SenseAge
by theDeadTree
Summary: Seven people who have been connected almost their entire lives must come together to prevent both a civil war and a new Blight from destroying everything they hold dear – though it may already be too late. (Or; Sense8 meets Dragon Age.)
1. The Wedding, Part I

**Note/Disclaimer: **this story has seven perspective characters and several chapters take place simultaneously, so sorry in advance if it's confusing as hell. I tried my best. Knowing anything about the original concept of Sense8 will probably help, but isn't necessary to understand what's going on. This is really just an Origins fanfic, featuring all of my wardens. Updates will likely be my usual irregular nonsense, but keep in mind that these chapters are long, and I am slow.

I don't own Dragon Age. Or Sense8, for that matter.

* * *

Rhian Tabris rolled over onto her stomach with a groan, barely registering that doing so caused her arm to drape over the bed, her hand brushing the cold floor. She didn't move, even as she felt lips trail along her ear, slowly moving down to her neck and along her jawline.

"Good morning, sunshine," came a soft murmur.

She groaned again and drowsily swatted at the air, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the world seemed to have other plans. The thin walls of the dilapidated shack she called home did almost nothing to drown out the noise of the outside world – the unmistakable daily sounds of city life. Rhian kept her eyes adamantly shut, determined to ignore it as best she could. After the ordeal that had been last night… Maker knows she could use the sleep.

Somehow, despite the fact that she'd been expecting it – that they had _all_ been expecting it ever since Eisa's own Harrowing just a few months ago – there would always be something incredibly jarring about being happily asleep one moment, and the next finding oneself pulled into the Fade without any warning, in order to best a pride demon. But this was the price she paid for being connected in such an intimate way to mages, she supposed. At least now she knew she wouldn't have to go through it again. Both Ellis and Eisa were fully fledged mages of the Circle now.

The lips returned then, this time accompanied with a hand that gently caressed her shoulder, fingertips following the contours of her body as they made their way down her back. Rhian shivered slightly at their touch, suddenly hyper-aware as they trailed along her sensitive skin. And then, almost immediately, they disappeared, followed by a loud, tired sigh.

"Ah, I'm wanted. Back in a minute."

Rhian exhaled sharply and shifted, pulling the covers further over herself in some vague attempt to stave off the bitter cold. All she wanted was to go back to dreaming, drift away somewhere she wouldn't have to face the harshness of reality, even if just for a little while. She remained there, unmoving, waiting for sleep to take her once again.

A sharp knock quickly broke her out of her thoughts. Rhian's eyes immediately snapped open, revealing the small, somewhat cramped space she called a bedroom, and Shianni standing in the doorway, a huge grin plastered across her face.

"Hey," she called, too loudly for Rhian to ignore. "You awake?"

Rhian groaned and quickly disappeared under the blankets. "No. Absolutely not."

That earned her a shout of laughter, followed by the sound of footsteps and a sudden weight as Shianni crossed the room and sat down right at the end of the bed.

"Oh come on," Shianni called, clasping Rhian's shoulder and shaking her a little in an effort to urge her awake. "You don't want to sleep through your own wedding, do you?"

_That_ got Rhian's attention. Immediately, she bolted upright, bursting out from her hiding place amongst a swath of blankets to stare at Shianni with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Wedding?" she repeated blandly. "That can't- …he can't _possibly_ be here already."

Shianni's grin, if possible, grew even wider. "Oh, but he _is._ He arrived last night."

What?

No.

_No,_ this couldn't be happening. Not now. Not so soon after-

She fought a _pride demon_ last night! Couldn't she have just _one day_ to rest? Why did everything have to happen so soon, and always all at once? It wasn't fair. It was starting to seem like life simply would _never_ be fair to her.

"No. No way. He can't have. I'd know."

She shrugged. "It was late. You'd already skulked off to bed."

"This can't be happening. I'm not ready!" Rhian had to stop herself from outright screaming, pulling her knees to her chest as her mind reeled.

Today? It couldn't be today. She wasn't ready. She was supposed to have at least a few more days, perhaps even a week. She was supposed to have more time. Now he was here and everything was happening so quickly she couldn't help but feel like her life was spinning wildly out of control.

"But… _but!__"_ she gasped, dragging her fingers through her hair. "But I- I have _work!__"_

Shianni shook her head. "No, you don't. Valendrian organised someone to cover you, so you're fine. Relax."

_Relax?_ How was she supposed to _relax,_ with the knowledge that she was supposed to be getting married today so abruptly shoved upon her?

Frantically, she reached out, grabbing desperately at the other woman.

"Shianni, you have to do something," she gasped, looking at her pleadingly. "Put it off for a couple of days. Tell them I'm sick. Or I'm injured. Or I'm terrible wife material. _Anything._ I'm _begging _you."

Shianni rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it; you'll be fine. I snuck a peek earlier. You're in luck – he's _handsome.__"_

Defeated, Rhian pulled back, grabbing the covers and disappearing beneath them like a petulant child while Shianni simply laughed.

"Come on," she urged one more time. "Get up."

"No," Rhian bit back, her tone low and sulky. "I refuse. I'll stay here forever and nothing can stop me."

"If it makes you feel any better, Soris has been quietly panicking all morning, too."

"You are _so_ not helping."

She laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll stop tormenting you; I need to get ready. You should too. Oh, and Soris wanted to talk to you. Don't keep him waiting."

With that, Rhian felt the weight lift off from the end of her bed, followed by the sound of footsteps and the bedroom door quietly clicking shut. For what seemed like eternity, she didn't move, not wanting to engage with or even accept the reality of her situation. She remained adamantly curled up under the blankets, comfortable in her dark hiding place and perfectly content to remain there for the rest of eternity. She was sure her father wouldn't approve, but at that point, she didn't care. It was either stay in bed forever, or run away and join the Dalish.

Never had that option seemed so attractive.

"Ah, surprise weddings," a voice very unlike her cousin's drawled from somewhere above her. "Bet you're simply ecstatic."

Almost immediately, Rhian peeked out from underneath the covers, her eyes snapping to the corner of her room where Eugene was casually leaning against the wall, an amused smirk pulling at his lips.

She scowled. "Glad to see you're finding this so funny."

His smile did not fade. "After that performance? It's hard not to."

"Don't you have something dreadfully important to do, _my lord?_ Or are you content to just stand there and laugh at me?"

He seemed mildly affronted by the very notion. "Excuse you. I would never _dream_ of making light of a lady's misfortune."

_"Eugene,"_ she called his name in a warning tone, watching as he wilted slightly under her stern gaze.

"Look, I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck a little anxiously – such a far cry from his usual demeanour of someone who simply _oozed_ confidence. "Last night was… intense."

Rhian folded her arms and huffed a little. "Ellis passed his Harrowing just fine. Don't we have bigger things to worry about right now?"

The smile was back now. "Of course we do. Because what's a high stakes battle of wits with a pride demon compared to the unending horror of a _wedding?__"_

She shot him a look at that, not really having the energy to indulge him right now. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in response, not quite sure what to do with himself in the silence. Rhian couldn't exactly blame him; this was all very sudden and neither of them had been anticipating this morning as being their last opportunity to really be alone. Come nightfall, she'd have a husband to work around. That was, unless she managed to get away in time.

Eventually, Eugene shook his head and stretched, giving a huge yawn as he did. "I know what you're thinking. It's not going to work."

"I know they're out there. All I'd have to do is talk to Aneurin… I could do it. It'd work."

"Your plan is to coerce Aneurin into bailing you out? Doesn't he have enough to deal with already? Dalish life isn't exactly easy."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well, I don't know. You could always just _meet_ your husband-to-be. Who knows? He might not be half bad."

Rhian groaned loudly and threw the covers off, stumbling to the chest where she kept her clothes, keenly aware of his eyes glancing appreciatively up and down her naked figure. For a moment, she paused, before cheekily glancing back over her shoulder.

"Like what you see, my lord?" she called back at him teasingly, careful to milk it for all it was worth.

Upon realising he wasn't being nearly as discreet as he'd thought, Eugene's face flushed a bright red, and he coughed a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and swallowing hard. For what seemed like an eternity, he just watched her, struggling for words that never seemed to come. Rhian chuckled to herself and dived back into the chest, digging around in it until she found what she was looking for – the dress she'd been given for her wedding. It was a relatively simple looking thing; white and somewhat plain, its only real defining feature being some delicate beading along the neckline.

Behind her, Eugene seemed to snap back into reality and made his way over, leaning over her shoulder to look at her wedding dress himself.

"Cute," he commented, his hand gently clasping her shoulder as he leaned over a little further and began to gently kiss her neck.

Rhian let out a quiet moan and arched her neck slightly, trying and largely failing to focus on what she was supposed to be doing.

_"Eugene,"_ she murmured his name, reaching up and tangling her fingers amongst his hair. "Eugene, I can't… I should be…"

She trailed off into silence as he pulled her in closer, his lips making their way back up to her cheek. Rhian let out a quiet exhale and twisted around to kiss him properly. For a moment, they remained like that; tangled up in each other, lips locked, broken only when she pulled herself back, gasping for air.

"Why are you so…" she began to ask a little breathlessly, only to trail off once again, lost in his embrace.

"Just…" he began, his voice quiet and strangely hoarse, "just let me have this. Before you're lost to me forever. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied softly, leaning in close, her cheek brushing against his. "I'm still here. I'll always be here. You haven't lost me."

Did he really believe that? Did _she?_ In that moment, Rhian honestly couldn't tell. Like her, he'd thought there would be more time. They had both assumed they would still have a few days to try and work out where they planned to go from here, how exactly they were going to continue, or if they should continue at all. Rhian stiffened a little at the thought. She'd never particularly liked that idea, and Eugene knew it.

Slowly, carefully, she pulled away a little, just enough to look him in the eye.

"You knew this was going to happen," she told him gently.

He nodded. "I did. Doesn't mean I like it."

"Weren't you the one telling me to give him a chance just a moment ago?"

"And I stand by that. I just…"

"Wish circumstances were different?"

He grinned. "Right. Exactly. You get me."

"I'm in your head," she reminded him. "Of course I get you."

"And vice versa," he mused, thoughtful all of a sudden, even as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "What did I do to deserve that, I wonder?"

Rather than answer, Rhian pulled away from him and returned to rummaging around in her chest of clothes, eventually pulling out a chemise and slipping into it as Eugene simply watched in silence. Feeling his gaze on her back as she began to wrestle with her stays, Rhian sighed tiredly.

"You know I can't focus with you watching me like that."

"You want me to go?"

She bit her lip. The easiest thing would've been to agree, to let him leave so they could get back to their respective lives. But if she was being totally honest with herself, the last thing she wanted right now was to be alone.

"Honestly? No," she murmured. "But you shouldn't let someone as inconsequential as me distract you from your lordly duties."

"That's funny, I could've sworn you sounded strangely like my mother just now," he told her, carefully brushing a lock of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. "And if it means I can spend more time with you, then _hang_ my lordly duties."

"I'm flattered you're so willing to let your family's teyrnir to fall into the sea just so you can spend a few moments with me."

"That's me. I'm a charmer," he replied, his voice bright and cheerful. "But please don't tell me to be responsible. It's so unlike you."

"We all have to grow up one day."

"But does it have to be _today?__"_

"I'm getting _married,_ Eugene."

There was a pause as he considered this.

"That's… a good point," he eventually sighed in defeat.

They descended into silence for a while as Rhian continued to struggle with the simple undergarments of her dress, before she ultimately concluded that it was not a task she could complete on her own.

"Help me," she called to him, turning around so he could lace up the stays.

Almost immediately, Eugene obliged, sliding out of view as Rhian almost immediately felt the stays tighten around her, pressing in tightly but not uncomfortably. She stood there, as still as she could manage, trying to focus more on breathing than the feeling of Eugene's fingers lightly brushing over the material.

"How would this look to everyone else? I mean, it's just you, lacing up the back of your own dress, isn't it?" he wondered aloud, drawing it back tight – more tightly than Rhian had been expecting. She gasped a little in surprise, causing Eugene to stop. "Sorry. Too tight?"

"No, no," she replied a little breathlessly. "It's good. I just- …you've done this before."

It wasn't a question; more of an observation. It was just one more thing she'd failed to notice about him before, despite everything they'd shared. She had to wonder if there would ever come a day where he wouldn't manage to surprise her anymore.

He laughed. "You'd be surprised."

"You know, I _could_ read into that completely the wrong way."

"I don't mean it like that. It's just a required skill."

"Doing up stays is?"

"A man who can't undress his wife will never have an heir," he told her cheerfully. "As my brother is fond of saying."

Rhian laughed a little at that – as much as the stays would allow her to. "That _does_ sound like Fergus."

They fell into silence after that, Rhian standing there and staring blankly ahead as Eugene continued to expertly pull at the drawstrings. Rhian didn't react as she felt the stays continue to restrict around her torso, unable to help but compare the feeling to the situation she found herself caught up in. It was all so hopelessly complicated, though that could only be her own fault. For pursuing a relationship with someone she knew she could never have despite knowing she would inevitably end up in an arranged marriage with someone else. For not telling anyone the truth.

Except, her mother had known. Rhian understood that now, when she looked back on some of her childhood memories, times where she had complained and commented on things that didn't always make sense, not knowing any better at the time. Her mother had to have known, or at least suspected something. Maybe not the specifics, but _something._ Rhian could clearly remember the pained look on her mother's face every time she thought no one could see, after one incident where Rhian had burst into tears because a boy in Highever was sick, and she was terrified that he would die.

She exhaled softly, all too aware that the sick Highever boy in question was standing behind her, deftly lacing up her stays like he'd done it a thousand times before.

"Better hope this fiancé of yours is half as good at this as I am," he whispered in her ear as he finished, before allowing Rhian to continue dressing herself.

It was possibly the most hopelessly complicated thing she'd ever worn, and after struggling with it for a solid couple of minutes, Rhian was about ready to give up on the whole endeavour and simply go to the wedding in her chemise and nothing else. She slacked, letting out a frustrated sigh and uttered a string of violent cusses.

"You, my dear, are hopeless," Eugene laughed as he went to aid her.

Her lip curled slightly at his words. "We can't _all_ be nobles with hordes of servants waiting to dress us."

Eugene snorted at her rebuke. "Alas, no. But that's why I'm here, so you won't have to go crawling to Shianni and beg her for help. Aren't you glad?"

She grumbled something largely unintelligible at him, ignoring him when he laughed. Of course he would find it funny. Given the right motivation, he found pretty much anything funny. Especially now, when he was desperate to keep his mind off the reality of the situation.

Finally, after too much tugging, pulling, and light cussing on her part, Eugene pulled back, eyes narrowed and tapping his fingers against his chin as he assessed his handiwork.

"What do you think?" Rhian asked him, twirling on the spot.

Eugene took a moment to silently appraise her, and hummed thoughtfully. "Well, the dress is nice, but your hair's still a mess."

Rhian waved off his criticism carelessly. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be swamped by overexcited bridesmaids eventually. They'll fix it. Probably with braids and flowers."

"Ah. Braids and flowers. Your favourite. Very befitting of such a delicate elven maiden."

"Haha. Shut up."

Almost the instant the words left her lips, there was a sharp knock on her bedroom door. Rhian and Eugene glanced warily at each other for all of half a second before the bedroom door burst open, and Shianni came barrelling in, this time accompanied with a gaggle of other women, all of which were excitedly chatting to each other, presumably about the upcoming ceremony.

"Alright Rhian, I hope you're wearing _something,_ because it's time to force you into-" Shianni began, only to trail off when she saw Rhian standing there, fully dressed already.

There was a pause as neither Rhian nor Shianni said anything, simply stared at each other in silence as the other girls kept talking amongst themselves, apparently oblivious.

"…your wedding dress?" Shianni finished awkwardly, looking dumbstruck.

Rhian laughed and tried her best to shrug it off, as Eugene glanced between the two elven women, his eyebrows raised and looking somewhat amused.

"The bride has miraculously gotten her dress on without help," he gasped with mock-horror, smacking a hand to his forehead. "What trickery is this? She _must_ be a mage."

Quickly, Rhian shot him a dangerous glare before turning back to Shianni.

"Don't look so surprised," she told her cousin airily. "You were taking so long, I got impatient."

"Nice save," Eugene commented dryly.

_"Shut up,"_ Rhian hissed back at him, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

Shianni pulled back. "What?"

"What? Oh, I- …nothing. Talking to myself."

There was a small pause as Rhian waited with bated breath to see if Shianni would believe her awkward and blatant lies. Meanwhile, Eugene grinned, delighting in how unnecessarily difficult he was making it for her.

Then, finally, _mercifully,_ Shianni rolled her eyes dramatically and crossed the small bedroom to assess Rhian's wild and untamed mane of hair.

"You're always talking to yourself," she commented, absently pulling Rhian's hair back so she could properly assess how much effort making her presentable was going to take. "What's our plan of attack with her hair, Nola?"

Immediately, Rhian found herself swarmed by the other bridesmaids, who immediately began to experiment with her hair, suggesting various ideas. Rhian remained trapped helplessly in the middle, saying nothing, wanting nothing more than to murder Eugene as he retreated to the wall, laughing.

And then, without any warning, he was gone.

Rhian blinked several times as she glanced over the space Eugene had been occupying just seconds earlier, before letting out a long sigh and resigning herself to the gaggle of bridesmaids who were now pulling her hair back into an elaborate braid, and threading flowers through it.

She tried not to feel hurt by Eugene's sudden departure. It happened sometimes. Most of the time, really. They all still had their own lives, lives that wouldn't always wait for them. Sudden disappearances were all too common. Somehow, knowing that made them no less jarring.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when someone – probably Shianni – tugged a little too hard on her hair, causing her to gasp in surprise and pain.

"Ah! _Careful,__"_ she hissed. "My hair is still attached to my head, you know."

Shianni simply tutted quietly. "In that case, maybe you should learn to brush it."

Rhian let out an incomprehensible growl at that, unable to do much more while she was being held hostage by her own bridesmaids. All she could do was remain still and patiently wait for them to be done with her; however agonising that was. Very quickly, she found herself staring longingly at the space Eugene had previously occupied, wishing he would reappear and resume his running commentary on the proceedings. Normally, on any other day, he would. But the more time dragged by, the less certain Rhian was she would see him again any time soon.

It was getting to a point where she had to assume he was deliberately avoiding it, and her.

She knew he was uncomfortable, that he had been deliberately acting like an ass to distract himself; but was the prospect of her wedding really that painful for him?

She sighed a little angrily. It wasn't _his_ wedding. He had no right to sulk.

Finally, the others seemed to deem her acceptable and Rhian was promptly released. She gingerly reached up to pull out a flower that was bothering her, only to have her hand slapped away by Shianni.

"Don't touch," she scolded. "You'll ruin it."

Rhian rolled her shoulders back and tried not to groan. There was no telling how happy she was going to be when all of this was finally over.

"I should find Soris," she mumbled in Shianni's direction, mostly in an effort to be left alone.

To her credit, Shianni didn't argue; simply gave a quick nod and ushered the other two women out the door, leaving Rhian truly alone for the first time that morning as Eugene failed to reappear.

She tried not to think about it too much as she sidled to the door and peeked out, hoping to sneak outside without anyone noticing. Maybe, if she was especially lucky, she could manage to sneak out of the alienage itself without attracting any attention, and thus would be free to vanish into the wilderness in search of the Dalish. Never mind that it was never going to happen; considering the not at all subtle wedding dress.

Quickly, she pulled up the front of the dress to prevent herself from tripping on the hem and made a dash for the door.

"Rhian," the familiar voice of her father called out suddenly, causing Rhian to stop dead in her tracks.

Slowly, warily, she turned on her heels, trying not to look too sheepish about being caught trying to leave without a word to her father.

"Papa!" she gasped, her grip on the bunched-up skirt of her dress slacking, letting the heavy fabric fall straight back in place. "I… I didn't see you."

She winced a little at how weak the lie was, and how Cyrion so obviously didn't buy it, even for a second.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he began, doing nothing to mask the lilting humour in his tone. "A last-minute expedition into the Brecilian Forest, perhaps?"

Rhian pulled back theatrically, affronted by the suggestion. "It's almost as if you don't trust me."

That earned her little more than a politely puzzled silence as her father glanced over her several times, his eyes narrowed, not quite sure what to make of her behaviour. Rhian resisted the almost overwhelming urge to slap her forehead in irritation when she realised what she'd just said. She hadn't meant to do that. It was far more in line with something Eugene might do, but not her. The fact that it had felt so natural only told Rhian what she was afraid to admit; the connection between them was still growing, just like it had been doing for as long as any of them could remember. More often than not, they'd find their lives, their experiences, their opinions and personalities all bleeding into each other. Rhian couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before it became so intense they could no longer distinguish each other as separate beings. Part of her couldn't help but think they were there already.

She tried not to think about it too much. Anything else was too terrifying to consider.

It was times like this when she was reminded, harshly, that she had no idea what the connection between them was, how it worked, or even why it was there. Maybe she wasn't what she thought she was. Maybe none of them were. Any attempt she'd made to discreetly ask someone about it had ended in some variation of _this sounds like magic, Rhian, it__'s wise not to be curious about such things._

She let out a tired groan and pinched the bridge of her nose in some vague attempt to pass off her incredibly _Eugene-like_ behaviour as nerves, or exhaustion, and opted to ask the question she'd been wanting to scream to the heavens since waking up.

"Why today?" she grumbled to her father. "Does it have to be _today?__"_

She'd been prepared to go to _work_ today, not a wedding. Especially not her _own._ She knew Shianni had said Valendrian had arranged for someone to cover her shift in the estate, but that didn't do anything to put her at ease. No doubt she would owe various people a string of favours before the day was over.

The corners of Cyrion's lips quirked with the hint of a smile. "Is there a problem with today? Nelaros is here, and everybody's ready."

"He wasn't _supposed_ to get here until next week," Rhian pointed out.

Cyrion waved off her concerns. "I'm sure there's a reason he was sent over early. In any case, everything worked out just fine."

"Valendrian was in a fit trying to make it work at such short notice, wasn't he?"

Cyrion decided not to grace that with an answer, instead swiftly redirecting the focus back onto her. "It's better this way. There sooner this wedding happens, the less chance you and Soris have to escape."

The corners of Rhian's lips quirked with an amused smile.

"A small chance is still a chance," she pointed out.

Cyrion sighed loudly at the comment and turned away slightly, rubbing his temples. "You are _so_ much like your mother."

"I thought you liked that about her?"

His eyes flicked up to hers, his expression tired and even a little defeated. "It was one thing to be married to it. It's another to raise it."

Now Rhian was the one to remain silent. She turned away, squaring her shoulders and letting out a long, tired, thoroughly dejected sigh, suddenly wishing the subject of her mother had never come up. So rather than reply, she began to move towards the door, wanting nothing more than to escape outside and bury herself in the festivities she was sure were already taking place.

And then;

"One more thing, Rhian."

She sighed and turned on her heels to face her father once more. "Yes?"

"Your martial training…" he began, carefully ignoring Rhian's immediate eye roll. "The swordplay, knives, and whatever else your mother trained you in. Best not to mention it to your betrothed."

Rhian looked away, stretching her arms out behind her in an effort to seem as nonchalant as possible. Perhaps it was better for Nelaros to know just what exactly he was getting into by marrying her. Perhaps it was better if he knew _all_ of it.

She didn't know what to do. She was sure the others would have opinions, but she couldn't seek out their counsel now. More than that, she didn't _want_ to. There had always been an unspoken rule that they would keep their connection to themselves, unless circumstances were particularly dire. She didn't want to be the first one to break it.

"He'll find out sooner or later," she pointed out bluntly.

The corners of Cyrion's lips quirked slightly at her reply, and his expression became strangely distant.

"Later," he told her, gently clasping her shoulder. "Definitely _later._ We don't want to seem like troublemakers, after all. Adaia made that mistake."

Rhian's lip curled. "The humans who killed her made a bigger one."

Eugene wasn't there to hear her remark, but Rhian knew what his reaction would be – a faint grimace as he bit back his typical _we__'re not all like that_ rebuke. Rhian didn't particularly care for that argument. Sure, _he_ wasn't like that, but that didn't change what had happened. It didn't change the fact that her mother was gone and never coming back. Eugene could try to sympathise, but what did he really know, in the end? Even Yeva knew something about loss, but _Eugene? _He was noble. All his life, his people had catered to his every whim. What did he _really_ know about hardship?

"Rhian, _please,__"_ Cyrion murmured as he clasped her shoulder. "Don't go out of your way seeking revenge. What happened was terrible, but there's nothing to be done. I couldn't bear to lose you the same way."

She couldn't help but soften when she saw the agonised look in her father's eyes. So rather than argue, she wrapped her arms around him and swiftly kissed his cheek.

"I'll be careful," she promised as she pulled away. "Trust me, Papa."

Cyrion managed a small, sad smile as he glanced over her once again.

"You are so beautiful," he told her softly, his eyes welling up with tears that he might've been able to hide if Rhian hadn't been so close. "He's lucky to have you."

She sighed heavily. "I bet all the fathers say that to their daughters on their wedding day."

Cyrion didn't reply to her remark, at least not at first. Rather, he gently cupped her face in his hands and kissing the crown of her head.

"All the fathers mean it," he responded, before pulling away. "Now, go on. I'm sure half the alienage is waiting out there to congratulate you."

Rhian gave a long, dramatic sigh and nodded, wandering over to the door, pulling it open and slipping outside.

Outside, the alienage was bustling with activity, perhaps more so than on other days. Rhian didn't notice, too focused on avoiding the huge muddy puddles that lingered from last night's downpour. It wouldn't do to wreck her wedding dress before the ceremony even started.

A group of men who appeared to have started drinking some hours ago whistled at her as she passed, and Rhian turned her head slightly to hide her smile. Part of her couldn't help but like it – wearing the most expensive dress she owned, done up to look like a princess. Living her entire life in the muck and dirt of the alienage, it had been such a long time since she'd felt beautiful. Seeing the ladies of Highever through Eugene's eyes hadn't helped with that, either. There were times she couldn't help but wonder why on earth Eugene would want her, the grotty tomboyish elf from Denerim, over the highborn women he was surrounded by every day.

Quickly, she elected not to think about it. It would just depress her otherwise.

Eventually, she rounded a corner and spotted Soris leaning against a wall, patiently waiting for her.

_"Finally,"_ he commented as she made her way towards him. "I was starting to worry you'd died in your sleep."

She pulled a face at that. "I wish."

The corners of Soris' lips quirked with the beginning of a smile. "Why are _you_ complaining? Supposedly, your groom is a dream come true."

_"Supposedly,"_ Rhian pointed out.

"Better than mine, at least – she sounds like a dying mouse."

"We could trade?" Rhian offered cheerfully.

He let out a shout of laughter. "Oh yeah, sure. Because that'll go over _so_ well."

"Or we could look for the Dalish…?"

The second the words were out of her mouth, Soris' palm was slapped against his forehead in exasperation. Rhian wasn't terribly surprised by his reaction; he'd been much the same since she first suggested the idea.

"This again?" he asked tiredly. "It'd be less effort to just give up and go through with the wedding."

"You're no fun, Soris."

He shrugged. "That's what you have Shianni for, isn't it? Anyway, you should at least _meet_ Nelaros before you marry him. Come on."

With that, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and began to pull her out towards the main square of the alienage, where the vhenadahl grew tall and proud, all while half the population of the alienage seemed to run around, trying to prepare for the ceremony. Rhian kept her eyes firmly on the ground, not wanting to consider it. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became over what to do.

It was all happening so quickly.

"Ah, Soris! There you are," a voice called out, followed by footsteps that caused Rhian's head to snap up.

She was met with a young woman with bright eyes and a cheerful smile, who was making her way over to them as a man about the same age trailed behind her, looking equally curious.

"Had to find the blushing bride," Soris said with a grin, nudging Rhian a little as he did. "Rhian, this is Valora, my betrothed."

Rhian nodded at the woman, doing her best to give a welcoming smile before her gaze shifted to the man she could only assume was her own fiancé, eyebrows rising slightly as she took him in. There was a moment of silence as she stared, unsure what to make of him, exactly. He seemed… nice. Pleasant, respectful, and well-mannered, at the very least.

Was it so much to ask for him to be a complete and utter bastard so she wouldn't have to feel so guilty over what she was hiding from him?

"You… must be Nelaros, then?" she asked, her voice jerky and devoid of any real emotion.

He smiled warmly at her, though Rhian did spot his eyes wander over her, taking her in for the first time. And in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder what he thought of her.

"I am indeed," he said, still smiling, offering her his hand, which Rhian gingerly took. "You're Rhian? Soris has told me about you. Some of it was even _positive.__"_

Immediately, she shot Soris a glare, only for him to raise his hands defensively.

"Hey now, I was just trying to give him an out. A sporting chance to run, and all that."

_"Soris,"_ Rhian hissed his name in a warning tone.

Nelaros simply laughed, appearing extremely good natured about it all.

"Oh, look," Eugene suddenly whispered in her ear, not even bothering to hide the mischievous grin that was quickly spreading across his face. "He's _handsome.__"_

Immediately, Rhian jumped back in surprise. _"Eugene!"_

Her sudden outburst was met with a bemused silence as Soris, Valora, and Nelaros all stared at her quizzically, completely at a loss of what to make of her behaviour. Rhian, realising her mistake, flushed a bright scarlet as she scrambled to come up with some explanation. Eugene, meanwhile, circled her like a hawk, watching and waiting for her response, not bothering to do anything about the shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Before she could get out a single word, however, Soris jumped to her rescue, gripping her upper arm and pulling her away, all while chattering away any and every explanation he could possibly think of.

"Don't mind her!" he all but shouted at Nelaros, lips cracked in an obviously forced grin. "Wedding nerves, you know."

Slowly, jerkily, Nelaros nodded. "I- …of course. Apologies."

Beside her, Eugene burst into a fit of almost hysterical giggles. "Well, he's _quite_ the catch. I'm a little jealous."

Rhian pinched the bridge of her nose and huffed loudly, a gesture that clearly stated what she couldn't outright tell him.

"Come _on_ cousin," Soris told her a little sharply, pulling her away with surprising strength. "We should _let them get ready.__"_

Rhian didn't resist him, allowing herself to be dragged around a corner and behind one of the countless rows of ramshackle houses that were crammed into the alienage, Eugene trailing along behind her, taking in the surroundings with interest. As unceremonious as his reappearance had been, Rhian would be lying to herself if she thought she wasn't glad to have him back. Something about him being there with her gave her a sense of security she didn't have otherwise.

Still. He could've done it with a little more tact.

"What…" Soris began between desperate gasps for air as he finally halted, "what was _that?__"_

Rhian bit her lip and glanced over Soris' shoulder, where Eugene stood, watching her with his eyebrows raised. Her mouth went dry as she struggled for words, and the two incredulous stares she was getting in return weren't helping.

"I was…" she began, faltering as she realised that she had no idea how to explain her actions without a lengthy and complicated summary of everything that was going on. "I thought- …I just remembered…"

_"Any_ day now, Rhian," Eugene deadpanned.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a quiet growl. _"Shut up, _Eugene."

There was a pause before she realised she'd said this aloud. Anxiously, she looked up, only to find Soris was looking at her, his expression twisted into one of confusion and outright horror.

"Oh no," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Oh _no._ Please tell me you're not doing this again."

"Doing what?"

_"That,"_ he replied, giving her a pointed look. "That _thing_ where you talk to yourself as if someone else is there."

From behind Soris, Eugene just laughed, having far too much fun with the entire situation. "How do you think he'd react if he knew that someone he can't see is standing right behind him?"

Rhian huffed loudly. "I don't know what you're talking about, Soris."

He just shook his head in response. "Yes, you do."

"Look, it's nothing, alright? Don't worry about it."

"You're a little _old_ for imaginary friends, don't you think?" he asked while gesturing at her, clearly exasperated.

"They're not _imaginary,__"_ she shot back defensively, before she could stop herself.

Soris groaned. "Of course."

Realising her mistake, Rhian turned away. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

"Right. Have fun explaining that to Nelaros in a way that doesn't sound completely insane. I should… get back."

Soris gave one last meaningful look, clearly telling her to calm down and start acting normal, before turning heel and heading back in the direction they came, back to where they'd left both Nelaros and Valora. For a time, Rhian watched him go, running through every possible excuse she could come up with to explain her behaviour. She glanced imploringly over at Eugene, hoping he would have any ideas, but he didn't seem to be paying attention. Rhian scowled a little and turned away, wondering what the point of having the best liar out of all of them there if he wasn't even going to make himself useful.

Then, slowly, Eugene made his way over to her, gently placing a comforting hand on her back.

"So."

She twisted around to face him, eyes wide and a little confused. "So?"

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

Eugene's eyebrows rose a little disbelievingly at her question.

"About _this,__"_ he clarified, gesturing wildly between the two of them. "About the whole situation in general."

She pursed her lips. "You want me to tell my _husband_ of the illicit affair I've been having with the _teyrn of Highever__'s son?"_

"I was thinking more along the lines of skipping to the part where you explain how that's even possible to begin with, but you do you."

"You're _not helping.__"_

His eyebrows rose slightly at her rebuke. "You really think you can hide it from him? Rhian, there are times _I_ can barely hide it from _my_ family. This is your _husband_ we're talking about. He's going to find out sooner or later."

_Later,_ Rhian heard her father's words echo back to her. _Definitely later._

If Cyrion thought Rhian's martial training was enough to scare Nelaros off, then there was no telling how he would react to the revelation that she was, and had always been, irrevocably connected to six other people. The more Rhian thought about it, the more she realised she didn't even know how to _start_ that conversation. Least of all in any sort of delicate manner.

_Hey,_ she could imagine telling him. _I know we__'re married, but I've actually been carrying on with someone else in my mind for years now._

Oh yes. That was going to go down _so_ well. And that wasn't even taking into account that she had no intention whatsoever of ending her relationship with Eugene.

Did that make her a bad person? Rhian couldn't tell anymore. Going behind her husband's back maybe wasn't the honourable thing to do, but wasn't it ultimately gentler to lie rather than come out with the truth? Normally, she'd worry about being caught in the act, but that wasn't a concern when the other man in question was halfway across the country from her.

She didn't _know_ Nelaros. There shouldn't be an expectation of loyalty to someone she'd met all of two minutes ago. She had no reason to put her marriage to him above a man she genuinely cared deeply for. A man she knew had been agonising over the same problem for weeks; far more concerned for her honour than she was. For someone who constantly stated he didn't care about honour or reputations, Eugene always put a surprising amount of stake in such things. Rhian always maintained that if Eugene was so desperate to preserve her honour, he could always leave himself. More than once, he'd tried to do exactly that, but it never lasted. No doubt he would try to keep his distance after the wedding. Rhian expected that wouldn't last, either.

"You can't just not tell him," Eugene told her, drawing her back to their conversation.

"Why not?" she shot back a little coldly. "None of you have told anyone."

"He's your _husband,__"_ he pointed out, his tone almost indignant.

She resisted the almost overwhelming urge to groan loudly. She'd long since lost track of how many times they'd had this argument.

"We're not married yet," she pointed out.

Eugene wasn't impressed by that. "Give it an hour. You will be."

Rhian folded her arms at that, not bothering to hide her irritation at him. "What's your _point,_ Eugene?"

He let out a harsh sigh and began to pace, raking his hand through his hair and generally acting far more stressed than he had any right to be.

"I can't- …_we_ can't… it's not honourable."

"Since when did you care about _honour?__"_

_"I'm_ not the one at stake here."

Rhian folded her arms and huffed loudly. "No, _you_ wouldn't be. Because it's perfectly acceptable for someone like you to take an elven mistress, isn't it?"

"That's _not_ what I-"

"I wonder, will you do this when it's _your_ wedding?" she asked him snappishly. "How _is_ Delilah, by the way?"

"Don't make this about me."

"It's _already_ about you," she argued. "Why are you pushing this so hard, anyway?"

He stopped in his tracks at her question, and for the longest time, no answer came. Rhian watched him patiently, waiting for the inevitable renewed argument.

"I don't know," he began after an agonising pause. "I thought I could deal with it when it came, but… I don't know. I don't want to be the other man."

"The _other man?__"_ she repeated blandly. "Eugene, how long have we been together? If anything, _Nelaros_ is the other man."

"And yet, which of us is the one marrying you?" he shot back at her, before sitting down in the dirt, staring aimlessly ahead. "I could've sworn it's not me."

For a moment, Rhian remained rooted to the spot, anxiously chewing her lip and trying to think of something, _anything_ useful to say. When she woke up this morning, she honestly hadn't thought she would be the one trying to comfort someone _else_ over the wedding.

Slowly, she sat down next to him. Suddenly, she didn't care about soiling her dress. It didn't matter anymore.

"I love you," she murmured as her hand brushed his. "We'll find a way to make this work."

"And if that means telling Nelaros the truth?" he asked, his eyes flicking up to hers and watching her carefully. "Full disclosure?"

She sighed and squared her shoulders. "Then so be it. But _only_ if there's no other choice."

He let out an agitated sigh at that, but didn't argue. They both knew there was no point in continuing; neither of them was going to budge. Neither of them wanted to have this argument again, regardless. They both knew that it would only end the same way.

"Rhian," a voice suddenly called from above, causing Rhian to immediately look up to find her fiancé standing there, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

She gave a weak smile and nodded, as Eugene made a point of looking in the opposite direction.

"Nelaros," she breathed his name. "Yes, I'm fine."

He smiled too at her reply, and quickly joined her in the dirt.

"You look beautiful," he told her quietly as he settled.

She nodded stiffly. "Thank you. You do too. Uh, _handsome,_ I mean."

Beside her, Eugene snorted. "Oh, go on. Tell him he's beautiful. Tell him he's the prettiest elf in all the alienage."

She ignored that. It was all she could do, without giving Nelaros reason to be doubtful of her sanity. Even if she did end up telling him the truth, she was certain it wasn't going to happen today. The wedding was stressful enough, just on its own. And Nelaros knew her about as well as she knew him. She had to keep reminding herself of that fact.

After a brief pause, Nelaros nudged her gently.

"Nervous?" he asked, trying and largely failing to mask the budding fear in his tone.

She nodded. "Terrified."

He laughed at her answer. "Oh, that's good. Me too."

Eugene groaned and leaned back, sprawling himself out on the ground. "Wow. He's perfect for you."

Rhian closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, which had long since become the easiest way of voicing her displeasure without words. It probably should've been impressive, just how quickly they'd all managed to come up with an entire language of non-verbal cues that allowed them to communicate, even while in the presence of other people. But Rhian couldn't help but long for a life where she wouldn't be constantly caught up in two conversations at once. It was hard enough to focus as it was.

Nelaros gave a weak smile and cleared his throat awkwardly. "So… can I ask who Eugene is?"

Rhian blinked in surprise. "I- _what?__"_

"Earlier, when you shouted…"

She exhaled sharply as Eugene frantically gestured at her to tell the truth. When she didn't say anything, he groaned loudly.

_"Eugene_ is the teyrn of Highever's son," he said, despite knowing full well that there wasn't any way for Nelaros to hear him. "And he's_ right here.__"_

Rhian bit her lip. "He's… an old friend. I was thinking about him, and realised that, uh… I haven't told him about the wedding."

There was an audible _smack_ as Eugene's palm slammed against his forehead in exasperation.

"I haven't written in so long," she continued, her heart thumping in her chest as she begged the Maker, the Creators, the Stone, the dwarven ancestors, and every other deity she could think of to let Nelaros believe her fumbling and blatant lies. "It completely slipped my mind, and I… suddenly remembered."

Whether Nelaros believed her or not, Rhian honestly couldn't tell, but he seemed content to let the subject drop. He seemed to have a respect for her privacy no one else did. Maybe this could work, after all. Maybe everything was going to be just fine. Maybe she'd settle nicely into her marriage and she'd live out her days working as a servant while her husband apprenticed in a smithy and they'd have five children and her habit of hallucinating other people's lives would quickly become a thing of the past.

It might've been nice; living the same boring, normal, mundane life as everyone else. Had things been different, it might've even been a life Rhian was content to lead.

"We should… ah, we should head to the main square," she mumbled after what felt like an eternity, scrambling back up to her feet. "It wouldn't do for us to _both_ be late."

Nelaros laughed at that, picking himself up as well. "What a terrible start to married life that would be."

For the first time that day, Rhian laughed too.

She turned to look back at Eugene, only to find nothing but empty space there. For a moment, she watched, wondering if he was going to reappear, but as the seconds dragged past without any sign of his return, she resigned herself to enduring the ceremony alone.

She turned back to Nelaros, who casually linked his arm with hers, still smiling pleasantly.

No, she corrected herself. Not alone. Not anymore.

_"There_ you two are!" an extremely flustered Valendrian called out the instant he spotted the two of them walking through the main square of the alienage, arms linked and laughing. "Everyone's waiting – so for the Maker's sake, _take your places.__"_

Both Rhian and Nelaros quickly gave the elder small, submissive nods, before winding their way through the gathered crowd, to where Soris, Valora, and the Revered Mother who was to officiate were patiently waiting.

"Nice of you to join us," Soris quipped as Rhian took her place. "I was worried you'd made one last dash to escape."

She rolled her eyes at her cousin, before clearing her throat and little and flicking a stray lock of hair out of her face. It was going to be fine. If nothing else, she would _make_ it fine. After all, marriage was only as bad as she made it.

She smiled a little ruefully to herself. Her father would be so proud.

The Revered Mother began to speak, but Rhian didn't hear the words. She stared aimlessly ahead, barely aware of her surroundings, wondering how this would come to impact her life, and her relationships with the six others who shared it. She wondered what would change. What they would think. How Nelaros would react when and if she ever tried to tell him about them, and the things their connection allowed her to do.

Was she crazy? She'd spent an absurdly large part of her life trying to answer that question, and still, she had no answer. This was just one more thing, one more obstacle to be managed when her life was already so complicated.

She didn't know what to do. Though, if she was being honest, it was a wonder she ever did.

Her eyes moved up to meet those of her groom. Why did she feel as though she needed to either love or despise him? Where was _that_ written? Why did she feel so compelled to be one or the other? They could be friends, surely. Maybe, just for now, that's all they needed to be. The truth, and all the complications that came with it, could wait.

Everyone would have opinions, of course. She had to expect that. Everyone had opinions about everything, all the time. That was just part of what they were, interacting how they did, being as involved in each other's lives as they were. They would have opinions on how to deal with Nelaros, on whether he could be trusted with the truth, just as she had opinions on their own complications and struggles, and the people in their lives. Not for the first time, she wished that wasn't her reality. And not for the first time, she wondered if the others felt the same.

The instant her thoughts turned to them, the people with whom she shared everything, Rhian could feel her mind being pulled in all sorts of directions, as she struggled to connect with them while part of her remained determined to stay focused, and grounded in her own life.

Eugene gracefully twirling a pair of dirks and giving a forced smile to Gilmore before attacking the training dummy in front of him with a renewed hostility – tearing the material apart with barely concealed anger and frustration.

_Denerim,_ part of her mind whispered, trying to reinforce the world around her.

Yeva carefully taking in the vast arena before her, watching on impassively as seasoned warriors fight in her honour.

_The alienage. _

Aneurin staring idly at the broken bow in his hands, his mind reeling from the shock.

_The wedding._

Eisa curled up in a corner of the library, her eyes scanning an old tome, curling further in on herself in some attempt to hide her reddening cheeks at the passing young templar's shy smile.

_Nelaros._

Joachim pacing agitatedly before the unconscious form of a drunkard, frantically trying to think of something, _anything,_ that will save him from impending disaster.

_Focus._

Ellis sitting there with his arms crossed, unable to stop himself from making a quip about pent up sexual frustration as Jowan paces agitatedly in front of him.

_Breathe._

Rhian breathed. She breathed and tried to concentrate on the biting cold of Denerim's weather, on the feeling of Nelaros' hands in hers, on the sound of the Revered Mother as she officiated.

Maybe she was finding it so difficult to stay grounded because, in truth, she desperately wanted not to be here.

In that moment, she couldn't say.

And then, just like that, it was over.

She was married.

Rhian blinked several times in shock, certain it wasn't supposed to go so fast. Maybe it had been because she wasn't paying attention. She couldn't honestly say. She remained in something of a daze, not quite able to gage reality, even as Nelaros took her hand and led her through the crowd as people cheered and wished them well, Soris and Valora following close behind.

Everything seemed so surreal, somehow.

"Rhian?" Nelaros called her name gently. "Are you alright?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I- …yes. I'm fine. I just… I need some air."

With that, she pulled away from him, trying to get out, to be some place where she could be alone, _really _alone, and concentrate on who she was for a little while. Just to reaffirm that she was still her own person, and not just a strange amalgamation of seven personalities blended into one body.

Almost immediately, Nelaros followed her, clearly worried. Rhian tried not to let it bother her. It was good that he cared. Not enough people did.

The two made their way out of the square and away from the noise and chatter, both confident that attention would remain on the other newlywed couple long enough for them to get away. It was one of the perks of having a double wedding. Rhian could finally see why Valendrian had insisted, although his reasoning was likely more for the general efficiency.

"My, what a fun little party," a horribly familiar voice observed suddenly, causing Rhian to immediately stop dead in her tracks and turn on her heels to face the speaker, the blood draining from her face. "Almost makes me upset I wasn't invited."

She knew that voice. It was fair to say that every elf in the alienage knew that voice, and the all too familiar chaos that usually followed it. Every elf, that was, save for her new husband, still fresh from the Highever alienage. He wouldn't know. How could he?

"We need to leave," she urged suddenly, anxiously taking Nelaros' hand and pulling him away.

He blinked several times. "Why? What's going on?"

_"Now,_ Nelaros," she hissed, never loosening her vice-like grip, even as he resisted her.

A panicked scream erupted before she could answer, causing both of them to immediately turn towards the commotion. They were greeted with the sight of Vaughan Kendells leering over a young elven woman, running his hands over her body as she sank against the wall of a house, crying silent tears and apparently too shocked and terrified to move.

Rhian looked away. Such scenes had become all too common in recent years, and she couldn't bear to see it anymore. She'd been fortunate enough to escape the noble's attention so far, and wasn't keen to break that streak. And in any case, her mother's fate had taught her that trying to fight only got you and everyone you love killed.

She hated it. Hated seeing it. Hated how common it had become. And she especially hated the feeling of being trapped, of being unable to do anything about it. But life was cruel and no one ever said the alienage was a safe, wholesome environment for anyone. She was resigned to that.

Of course, that didn't mean Nelaros was.

"Nelaros!" she called his name sharply, doing her best to pull him back. "Don't. _Please.__"_

He stared at her like she was completely insane. "You're not _honestly_ going to just let someone come in here and harass your people like this?"

"That's Vaughan Kendells," she said. "This is what he does."

"And no one's going to _stop_ him?"

"No one _can!__"_ she snarled. "He's the _arl__'s son!"_

Either Nelaros didn't hear her, or he didn't care, as he was already running towards the group.

"You're going to get yourself killed!" she shouted after him. _"Nelaros!"_

But her cries came too late. Nelaros had already barrelled onto the scene, shoving the human noble off the young woman he had cornered.

"Get off her," he snarled, with more aggression than Rhian had thought he was even capable of.

Almost immediately, one of Vaughan's accomplices – Rhian couldn't tell which one, Arl Urien's son seemed to go through friends faster than anyone else in Thedas – roughly pushed Nelaros back.

"You'd better watch your tongue when speaking to the Arl of Denerim's son, elf."

"I don't care _who_ he is," Nelaros retorted. "The people here aren't yours to torment."

Vaughan, having now recovered, turned to face him, his lips curving into a sadistic smile. "Oh, don't tell me. It's the dashing groom himself, come to save the day," he drawled. "That's _cute.__"_

Nelaros, quaking with anger now, couldn't restrain himself any longer. He made a swing at Vaughan's face, which the human quickly dodged before reaching out, grabbing Nelaros by his shirt, and pulling him close.

"Nelaros, _don__'t!"_ Rhian shouted, frantically gesturing at him to leave, before he inevitably got himself killed.

She'd seen people die to the arl's men before, and had almost become one of those victims herself too many times to count. As much as she didn't know Nelaros, as much as she wished she hadn't been pushed into marrying him, she didn't want to see him _dead._ Certainly not to Vaughan and his lackeys for the crime of trying to protect an innocent girl from being molested.

At the sound of her voice, Vaughan shoved Nelaros away with so much force that the elf staggered, before turning on his heels to face her, eyes gleaming with interest as they trailed up Rhian's figure, over the curve of her hips; his gaze coming to linger at her chest.

"Now see here, the pretty bride," he breathed, biting his lip and giving her one more appreciative once-over that made Rhian's skin crawl as her heart hammered relentlessly in her chest.

"Don't _touch_ me," she hissed, quickly backing away.

"Come now," he said softly, advancing on her until she was pressed against the wall of a house, helpless to do anything as he leaned in even closer, until there was barely an inch between them. "All done up like this… you were bound to attract attention. Surely you knew that."

He leered over her, and Rhian was suddenly hyper aware of just how much bigger and stronger he was compared to her. She couldn't fight, couldn't push him away, couldn't do anything to escape from him as he leaned in, ever closer, until she could feel his hot breath on her neck. Every fibre in her being screamed at her to fight back, to run, to do _something,_ but her body refused to move.

"Get away from her!" she heard Nelaros scream, but it seemed faint, distant, as though it came from miles away. "If you so much as _touch_ her, Maker help me, I'll-"

He cut off with a gasping grunt as one of the humans – Rhian couldn't tell who, nor did she care – delivered a fast, brutal blow to his gut. She shrank back against the wall even further as Nelaros quickly crumpled from the attack, falling to the ground as the humans descended upon him, almost in a frenzy.

"You'll _what?__"_ Vaughan asked without looking back, completely unconcerned with the sudden outburst of violence. "Please, tell me. I'm _dying_ to know."

There was a pause as the man seemed to be waiting for a reply, though he clearly never expected it to actually come. It might've been brief, perhaps only a second or two, but in that moment, time seemed to grind to a standstill – and all Rhian could bring herself to do was stand there, watching in utter terror, and listen to the sound of her newlywed husband being beaten to a bloody pulp by humans she was powerless to fight against.

She couldn't run.

She couldn't fight.

She couldn't _do_ anything.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be this way. She should be brave. She should bite and snarl and claw at her captor, fighting tooth and nail. Every part of her was screaming at her to do something, to do _anything,_ but nothing would respond. She was paralysed, pinned there by pure, unadulterated fear.

Vaughan rolled his eyes then, his expression bored and dismissive. "You people are so _melodramatic._ I'm not going to _keep_ the dirty little knife-ear. Just borrow her for a night or two. I mean, what's a little sharing between friends?"

At his words, Rhian's knees buckled beneath her and she slowly slid to the ground, desperate to get away from him. She hated it. She hated how vulnerable she felt, hated the way her heart thumped in her chest from fear. Anxiously, she tried reaching out, hoping she could draw the others to help bolster her.

But as the seconds dragged by, as Vaughan gripped her upper arm and wrenched her back up to eye level, all while giving her a sick, twisted grin that told her everything she needed to know about what he was planning to do, if she didn't know already; the others failed to appear.

Where were they? Why couldn't she reach them?

"Eugene," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear and barely audible, "Eugene, _help.__"_

But still, her calls were met with silence.

It didn't usually take this long. She wasn't usually ignored like this. Rhian couldn't say what was wrong – maybe her panic was affecting her focus, stopping her from reaching them. She honestly couldn't say. It seemed to be different for everyone.

She was so absorbed with her utter failure to call for help that she barely heard Nelaros' ragged voice screaming threats and vitriol to the man who had her pinned against the wall, even as he was curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach in pain. She couldn't tell what was being said, exactly, but she didn't really need to know. She only wished Nelaros would stop talking, stop making it worse for himself. At this rate, he would only draw more of Vaughan's ire.

Vaughan gave a dramatic shrug then, while never loosening his grip on Rhian.

"I've got your bitch right here," he called casually, his eyes never leaving her face. "Either you can settle for getting her back a little… um, _used,_ or you can simply not get her back at all. And I'm not entirely sure you want to _risk_ that."

Rhian could feel her stomach turn at the thought, but still couldn't bring herself to move, even as Vaughan leaned in close.

"You hear me?" he whispered, his lips just grazing her cheek. "Be a good girl and don't fight now. Maybe you'll even be able to go home tomorrow. We'll even find some others to keep you company."

With those words, Vaughan turned back to his lackeys.

"At least one each, right?" he asked, though it was framed more as a rhetorical question than something that actually invited an answer. "That's fair, isn't it?"

Something, somehow, seemed to snap at that. A sudden burst of confidence flooded through Rhian, and she spat in his face.

There was a brief, tense pause as a glob of saliva spattered across Vaughan's cheek, during which Rhian paled, suddenly realising what she'd actually done. Vaughan twisted around to look at his friends, who were still standing around Nelaros' collapsed form, his eyebrows raised in mild disbelief and something akin to amusement.

"So, there's a little spirit to her _after all,__"_ he drawled, his lips twisting into a sick smile as he wiped the spit from his face; his hand that had been holding her there so tightly finally dropping. "Good. Maybe we'll be able to teach her some manners. Her and the other whores in this dump."

With that, his hand rose, and before Rhian could really understand what was happening, he struck her. Pain seared across her cheek as she was thrown off-balance from the sheer force of the blow. Her head struck the ground, and everything quickly went black.

In Highever, Eugene Cousland staggered and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground.


	2. The Proving, Part I

Beraht liked to come in at all hours; barging his way into their house without a care, just to remind them that he owned the place, just as he owned them and everything they were. The crime lord, like anybody of rank living in this hole they called a city, took a kind of sick pleasure in grinding everyone beneath him deeper into the dirt until there was nothing left. And since they already _were_ nothing to most of the citizens of Orzammar, there wasn't much they could do about it.

It was an unfortunate truth Joachim Brosca found himself being forced to recognise as he listened to the increasingly heated back and forth between his sister and their slave master.

_"Please _Beraht," Rica all but begged, fighting to keep any real semblance of composure. "I don't want to do this in front of my brother."

"Aw," Beraht responded as his fingertips caressed her jawline, his words invoking sympathy while his tone was anything but. "Don't know what you're trying to shield him from, precious. Boy should know the lay of the land by now. Don't you, _boy?"_

Joachim didn't look up. That was the deal, after all. He kept his head down and did as he was told, without question. Anything else could ruin what little freedom and autonomy they had.

"Yessir," he grunted, his eyes never leaving his own hands as he casually pretended to inspect his fingernails.

Beraht had clearly been expecting a sarcastic quip, given how his eyebrows rose with both surprise and a strange sort of silent approval that made Joachim's skin crawl. He didn't like having Beraht's approval. He didn't like giving the man any more reasons to keep him around than what he already had. But antagonising the man put his sister in more danger than she was already in, as Joachim had been taught many times over now.

Knowing that didn't make him want to punch the man in his smug face any less, however.

"Listen to the kid," Beraht drawled in Rica's direction. "He knows the deal you made. He lays low, and does whatever jobs I don't want to risk anyone _valuable_ on."

As he spoke, Joachim staggered to his feet and began heading for the door, not wanting to listen to this. Staying was only going to upset Rica even more, and he had his own shit to do, regardless.

_"Hey,"_ Beraht snarled, reaching out and gripping him tightly by the arm, pulling him to a sharp halt. "Did I _say_ you could leave?"

"Oh, _sorry,"_ Joachim drawled with a heavy air of sarcasm, ripping himself out of Beraht's grip. "I didn't realise you were in constant need of a sycophantic audience."

_"Joachim,"_ Rica called his name, her voice halfway between fear and scolding.

"That is a _big _word for a duster," Beraht drawled, looking over Joachim with a mild curiosity. "Now _where_ does a shit like you learn a thing like that?"

For a moment, Joachim paused, glancing over Beraht and then Rica, his mouth running dry as he tried to think of something, _anything_ halfway realistic to say. He could hardly admit his expanded vocabulary was a simple side-effect of sharing the lives of six other people; at least three of which had a far superior education to anything he could dream of. He didn't have a way with words like Eugene did – the blasted human could say even the most lurid and offensive things with a magnetic charm, to the point he could probably become a world ending despot and people would still love him. Joachim wasn't nearly so lucky. Whatever unique gift Eugene had been born with that made him so effective with words, it was lost on the dwarf. He was forced to rely on cruder means of getting his point across.

And he'd already paused for too long.

Sighing, he squared his shoulders and looked the Carta leader in the eye. "I pulled it out of Jarvia's cunt."

Joachim had already braced himself for the blow when Beraht swung, his clenched fist slamming into his cheek with what felt like the full force of a rampaging bronto. He collapsed onto the dusty stone floor with a grunt, and barely given a second to recover before Beraht's boot connected with his gut, punching the air from his lungs. Joachim curled up in pain, coughing and gasping, as Beraht stood over him, a grim smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," he spat, flecks of saliva hitting Joachim's throbbing cheek. "I _own_ you."

As if he needed the reminder.

"You've got a _week,_ precious," Beraht continued, his attention back on Rica now. "Fuck some horny noble in that time and make my investment worthwhile, or I'll throw you and your piss stain family back out on the streets _myself."_

"Beraht-" Rica began, but the other dwarf had long since turned his attention away from her.

_"You,"_ he barked at Joachim, who was still sprawled out on the floor. "My shop. Fifteen minutes. Don't even _think_ about being late – your whole damn family's on loose sand with me right now."

And without so much as another word, he walked out of the room roughly slamming the door behind him in what Joachim could only assume was some vague attempt at a show of strength; meant to intimidate both him and his sister.

He didn't know why Beraht bothered. They were firmly on his leash, and never going anywhere. There wasn't anywhere else they _could_ go.

"Why," Rica whispered as she knelt down to inspect Joachim's cheek. "Why do you keep _antagonising_ him like that?"

Joachim sat up with a small grunt, opting not to reply to her question. If he told her the truth – that he just felt so much better if Beraht hated him – she'd only chastise him. After all, Beraht was the only reason they had anything of worth, and the only reason they weren't sweeping streets in a desperate bid to keep from starving.

More than once, Joachim had suggested the surface.

And more than once, that idea had been viciously shot down.

But his family didn't know the surface like he did. _No one_ in Orzammar knew the surface like he did – well, except perhaps Yeva, but she was so determined to ignore the connection and everything that came with it that she barely counted. It wasn't without its problems, Joachim_ knew _that, but at least up there they'd be able to get jobs, make a living wage, and generally be considered _people_ rather than little more than rats. But that wasn't a good enough reason, apparently.

He grimaced. It had been good enough for his father.

"Because he deserves it," he managed after too long, the moment he realised that silence was very quickly getting him nowhere. _"Bastard."_

Rica tutted at him quietly – in that way she always did when she found herself mothering him. Which was _all the time,_ since their _actual_ mother was too busy sleeping off a drunken stupor more often than not. It wasn't fair. The others had all lucked out with their parents – the ones that _had _parents, anyway – kind loving people who adored their children and wanted only the best for them. Why couldn't he get that? Why couldn't he be the son of people like Cyrion Tabris, or Endrin Aeducan, or Bryce and Eleanor Cousland? Eisa and Ellis had their respective mentors… even Aneurin had his clan, which were basically his family in every way that mattered. Why was he stuck with a mother who greatly preferred being in a drunken stupor rather than actually engaging with reality? What had he done to deserve that? Was the world just punishing him by letting him experience things he knew he'd never have through people whose lives he'd never get to live?

Of course, standing around moaning about how life treated everyone else better wasn't going to get him anywhere. He'd learned that a long time ago.

Rica let out an exhausted sigh, glancing towards the door Beraht had disappeared through. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

He didn't meet her eye. "What, like I haven't seen it a thousand times already?"

_"Joachim-"_

"Don't kid yourself, Rica. I've seen it before, I'll see it again, and I'll keep seeing it until I'm dead."

"And I feel like every time you do, part of you _dies,"_ Rica replied, either unable or unwilling to hide the shaking in her voice, or the tears that were quickly welling up in her eyes. "You're such a sweet boy, Joachim, I _hate_ what Beraht's turning you into."

"Yeah, well, _sweet_ ain't gonna feed us, is it?" he snapped back in response as he finally pushed himself back up to his feet.

Rica shifted uncomfortably for a second or two, before letting out a huge sigh. "Well, it _might."_

Joachim blinked several times at that, turning on his heels to face his half-sister with an incredulous look. "What're you talking about?"

"I've met someone," she admitted quietly – with absolutely _none_ of the confidence or pride Joachim would've expected from such an announcement. "Or- or at least… he _seemed_ interested."

"And you… _didn't_ tell Beraht that?"

"It's not certain," she reminded him quietly. "I'm hoping to know for sure before Beraht does anything."

"Who is it?"

"No one important."

"Rica, the whole _point_ of this is for you to fuck someone who _is_ important."

"I _know,"_ Rica sighed, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. "And can you _please_ at least try to watch your language?"

Joachim rolled his eyes. "Ah, man. She gets talking lessons and all of a sudden she's gotta make sure _everybody's _talking like right bloody nobles."

_"Elocution _lessons," Rica corrected him tiredly, her response almost automatic.

_Ugh,_ she sounded _so much_ like the humans that flitted around in his head. He used to try to engage with reality in some sad, last-ditch effort to escape the chaos of the others and their respective lives, and here he was, having to listen to his own sister sound all right and proper.

"…whatever," he grunted irritably. "You know what I mean! And you still haven't told me who you're screwing around with."

"I'm not _screwing around_ with anyone," she told him a little hotly. "I just… don't want to get into specifics yet. It may be nothing."

"It ain't _nothing,"_ Joachim insisted, his mood brightening considerably. "We don't even _need_ Beraht. No one ever said we gotta back up his story when he tries to weasel his way into the family."

"You know he'll kill us if we don't."

"And bring an entire damn noble house down on his head," Joachim continued gleefully. _"Worth it."_

Rica simply laughed – perhaps a little sadly – at that and shook her head. "Pity we won't live to see it. And you're getting ahead of yourself anyway; nothing's actually happened yet."

"Can you _imagine_ the look on his _face,_ though?"

"See, this is _exactly_ why I didn't say anything," she sighed, glancing back towards the door. "You should probably head out. Beraht will want to see you."

That quiet dismissal was about as blunt as Rica ever got. Joachim let out a loud, rather theatrical sigh before nodding at her and heading out the bedroom door and into the main interior of the hovel they called home. Joachim tried not to pay too much attention to it; the cracks in the ceiling, the dirty floors, the few stray pieces of ancient furniture that looked merely seconds away from crumbling into dust at all times. It was more – _so _much more – than any other casteless could ever dream.

But still, it was difficult to be impressed with this dump when he routinely experienced the splendour of Orzammar's Royal Palace, or Highever Castle, or the unmatched luxury that was Kinloch Hold. Oh, _Kinloch Hold._ He could see it so clearly… the soft velvet drapes, the astoundingly high ceilings, the impeccably well-kept stone floors, the library that seemed to be the size of Dust Town… he would never understand the seething resentment he knew some mages felt. He'd take the templars' constant vigilance, if it meant he could live somewhere so wondrous.

He'd told Eisa and Ellis that, once. Both had stared at him like he was crazy. But it was normal for them. They woke up to it every day. He didn't think they'd ever understand.

He supposed he would just have to settle for seeing it through their eyes.

"Whozzat?" a croaky voice slurred out suddenly as he made his way through the main room of the house, breaking him unceremoniously from his thoughts. "Rica?"

Joachim stopped dead in his tracks, letting out an exhausted sigh and turning just enough to face his mother, slumped in a dark corner, red-faced and clutching a bottle of what Joachim could only assume was the usual swill she pretty much lived on.

"It's the king of Orzammar," he snarked back. "Heard you were single."

Kalah Brosca's lip curled at her son's words. "Don't you sass me, ungrateful brat. I _made_ you, and I can make another just _like_ you!"

"And where's that gonna get you?" he responded dryly, wincing a little as he could practically hear the startling amount of sheer _Eugene _in his voice. And it mightn't have been such a bad thing, if it hadn't been directed at his mother.

"…everybody's disrespecting me," she grumbled, staring idly at the bottle in her hands.

_Because you just ooze respect, don't you, you old hag._

"S'all 'cause your father-"

_"Here_ we go…" Joachim groaned tiredly, trying desperately not to think about just how familiar this whole situation was, how they went through this routine every single damn morning. "If life's so fucking miserable, how about you do something about it? Or at least _shut up_ and spare us all your damn self-pity."

"Don' you speak t'me like-"

"Just go back to your piss already," he snarled back, moving for the door, before wrenching it open, walking through it, and slamming it behind him with all the force he could muster.

Years ago, seeing his mother like this had upset him. He used to do everything he could to help her, to ease her back to sobriety, to do his best to make a life for them so he could look after her. But after so long listening to her blame all of their problems on him, like _he'd_ been the shitty wife who drove her husband to flee to the surface, Joachim wasn't particularly inclined to feel even the slightest bit guilty.

"About _sodding time,_ salroka," the all too familiar voice of Leske called out cheerfully the instant Joachim stepped out onto the barely kept streets of Dust Town. "And here I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and drag you out."

Joachim waved him off impatiently, saying nothing as he headed out towards the Commons.

"Not that I'd've minded," Leske continued to drawl as he jogged to catch up. "Never gonna pass up an opportunity to get a taste of that gorgeous piece of meat you call a sister."

"Keep talking about her like that and I'll _deck_ you, Leske."

Leske let out a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes at that. "Really? Straight to the threats? Not even a _little _bit of playful banter? _Someone_ obviously didn't get their beauty sleep."

Joachim groaned and began carefully massaging his temples as he remembered the reason _why _exactly he was so tired. "Yeah, no _kidding."_

"Do I even wanna know?"

For a moment – just one, relatively short moment – Joachim found himself seriously considering telling Leske all about the mess with Ellis' pride demon, just to see his reaction.

Instead, he just shook his head and forced a smile. "Nah."

Dwarves weren't supposed to dream at all, let alone find themselves being actively manipulated and tempted by demons. Joachim didn't know whether to feel special about that. Sometimes, when the Fade was beautiful, he did. But then it would just as easily turn into a nightmare and he found himself desperately wishing it all away. He didn't know how to even begin describing his experiences, most of the time. The more he thought about them, the more he tried to remember them, the less sense they made. Which was strange, because at the time, it all seemed to come together perfectly. It was only ever afterwards when he realised the inconsistencies and the gaping holes in his memory.

More often than not, it was horrifying and twisted and full of things that chilled him to the bone just knowing they were there, that they were watching him. Sometimes, he thought he still felt them, even awake. Lingering in the dark, eyes glinting with light against the shadows, lips hiding too many teeth softly whispering in his ear, just to remind him that they were still there, always watching and waiting for the smallest sign of weakness. He didn't know how the mages dealt with it most of the time. Maybe the trick was not to think about it. Maybe the trick was that they were _always_ thinking about it, always aware, always fighting. Maybe that was the only way they could be.

It all seemed so exhausting to him.

He swallowed uncomfortably as he came out into the relatively – compared to the dark dinginess of Dust Town, at least – harsh light of Orzammar's Commons, ignoring the dirty looks that were constantly thrown his way. Joachim simply kept his head down and tried to stick to the shadows as much as possible, as if he hid away in darkness, maybe people wouldn't notice the brand across his cheek quite so quickly.

He didn't know why he bothered, most days. Almost everyone in this part of the Commons knew exactly who he was, and who he worked for. There wasn't any other reason for a dirty casteless such as himself to frequent Beraht's shop almost every day. Though why Beraht even _had_ a shop when he had the entire Carta at his command was lost on Joachim.

It might've been a nice little place, if the memory of a thousand different abuses weren't what immediately sprang to mind the instant he approached the door.

"Old geezer can't be expected to last much longer," the all too familiar sound of Beraht's voice was saying, just as Joachim cracked open the shop's door and peeked inside.

The interior of Beraht's shop matched its exterior – it was clean, well-kept, looking almost like a respectable joint. Joachim could only wonder how much time Beraht spent keeping it that way, considering the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled on those pristine floors. Not exactly what any self-respecting citizen of Orzammar thought of when they tried to imagine a Carta base.

Maybe that was the point.

"Bhelen seems far more sympathetic to our interests than Yeva or Trian," Jarvia replied dryly, her voice low. "But I don't see a way to keep him in line, even if he _does_ manage to take the throne."

_"Bhelen_ has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide," Beraht pointed out, his lips cracking into a big, almost sick grin as the words left them. "Trian's got all the tact of a rampaging blind _bronto,_ I'd wager at least half the Assembly sees that. He won't be hard to remove."

"And Yeva?"

Beraht stopped in his pacing then, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation.

"The fair princess is bound to be a problem," he growled. "Girl's hardly diplomatic, but she's _daddy's _favourite, and at least knows when to keep her mouth _shut._ Assembly's practically all _over_ her. The whole damn _city_ is. We need to-" he cut off the instant he noticed the open door and the curious expressions of both Joachim and Leske watching him, "…we'll continue this _later."_

Joachim tried not to show his discomfort too much, even as Jarvia shot him a poisonous glare that made his very soul practically wither away and leave his mortal body.

_If looks could kill,_ he thought blandly, already trying to put her out of his mind. No doubt Beraht had told her about his attempts at being a smartass earlier. No doubt she'd taken offence, and was preparing to make him pay for the slight the instant Beraht was done with him.

Jarvia always had been the more twisted, sadistic little bitch of the two. Maybe that was why Beraht liked her so much. Maybe that was why he kept her around, even when her presence with him threatened his reputation. She was casteless just as much as Joachim was – just as much as any other pitiful piece of shit living in the squalor of Dust Town. She could pretend all she wanted, hang around Beraht's side putting on airs of being superior, but the brand on her cheek was just as obvious. There was no hiding _that._

It had always given Joachim a small, almost sick kind of pleasure, knowing that. Knowing that she was trapped by the circumstances of her birth just as much as he was.

"About _damn _time you worthless sacks of shit showed up," Beraht spat in Joachim and Leske's direction as they both awkwardly shuffled their way inside, bringing Joachim sharply back into reality. "Thought I told you to hurry your sorry asses here, no delays?"

Joachim's lip curled at the accusation. They weren't even late. _Early,_ if anything. Beraht was just looking for excuses to hate him today.

It couldn't _all_ be because of what happened with Rica this morning, could it? Beraht wasn't _that_ petty.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought. What was he thinking? _Of course_ Beraht was that petty.

"Came as soon as we could, Beraht," he told him with a small, exhausted sigh. "You got a job for us or not?"

Beraht's lip curled at that.

"And that's just what everyone likes, isn't it?" he drawled, which only accentuated the venom in his voice. "A mouthy casteless who doesn't know what's good for him."

Joachim opened his mouth to reply then, but almost immediately thought better of it. There was nothing he could say here that wouldn't end incredibly badly. He'd learned that lesson this morning.

A shiver went up his spine the instant he noticed that Jarvia was still glaring at him, a silent promise that he was going to be sorry for ever mentioning her name. Joachim wasn't sure what else he could've done. As dangerous as pissing off both Beraht and Jarvia in one day was, he'd take that over the possibility of either of them discovering the truth about what he was… _whatever_ he was.

A dwarf and an elf and a human and a noble and a mage and a thug and a servant and a princess and a forest savage, all rolled into one?

It had been so long since Joachim had stopped trying to make sense of it. Since he'd accepted that there probably wasn't any sense _to_ make of it. None of them understood their situation, despite their best efforts. Not even Ellis or Eisa seemed to have a clue as to what they were or why they were even that way to begin with. Joachim had a feeling it was going to end up being a mystery that remained unsolved, no matter what.

A sharp pain as Beraht's meaty hand smacked him upside the head interrupted his thoughts then, dragging him, almost kicking and screaming, back to reality.

"You're going to want to _listen_ when I speak to you, kid," came the low, growling admonishment. "No fucking point to keeping you around otherwise, is there?"

Joachim kept his eyes glued firmly to the floor, trying to ignore the stinging pain from the blow. Beraht never did pull his punches.

"Sorry," he grunted monotonously.

Beraht pulled away then, letting out huge, somewhat exhausted sigh as he turned back to Jarvia, and began to pace the length of the shop.

"Yeva Aeducan," he barked out suddenly – causing Joachim to jump at the mention of a name part of him automatically wanted to respond to, like it was his own.

In some ways, it _was_ his own.

_That_ particular thought sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spine like nothing else.

"Uh, yeah?" he managed to force out weakly. "What about her?"

"Our _illustrious_ princess gets her big girl pants today, and half the damn city's up fawning all over her," Beraht drawled. "Bunch of merchants bought their way into the Diamond Quarter, all special like, just for the occasion."

"So why're _you_ slumming it down here with us?" Joachim asked a little snidely. "Couldn't afford your own bribes?"

"Let's just say I've been distracted with… _other matters,"_ Beraht answered, not as affected by the question as Joachim hoped he would be. "See, the Warrior Caste is hosting a Proving today – all the best fighters, last man standing, the usual kind of thing – in honour of the city's new commander."

Back in the corner by the door, Leske let out a small snort. _"Of course_ they are."

Joachim didn't react to that news – he'd already heard about it. He'd been hearing about it for what seemed like _months_ now, since everyone in Yeva's life had been fussing over her to the point even _she_ was getting tired of it. He knew about the Proving, about Yeva being strictly forbidden from participating despite her best efforts to convince her father otherwise, about how every fighter worth a damn in the entire city would be competing out of some vain hope that Yeva would abruptly go back on a lifetime of vehement opposition to romantic entanglements of any kind and find herself a suitable husband in all the fanfare.

He doubted it was going to happen. Yeva was a lot of things – most notably _short-tempered_ and _frigid_ and _kind of an elitist bitch_ – but wife material? That certainly wasn't one of them. But most of Orzammar didn't know that, not the unwashed masses, not the Warrior Caste, not the nobility, not really even Yeva's own family. Honestly, it was kind of _weird_ to think that he, some nobody casteless from the depths of Dust Town, knew the princess on such a deep and personal level.

A fact he knew Yeva herself couldn't _stand,_ which honestly kind of pleased him.

"It's not exactly _often_ we get every named fighter in Orzammar lined up like this, and I have certain acquaintances who… well, _take an interest_ in this sort of thing," Beraht continued, all while watching Joachim carefully, as if silently daring him to space out and stop listening again.

That could only mean one thing.

"You're taking bets on the fighters," he observed bluntly.

Of course that was happening. It was exactly the kind of thing the Carta boss got involved in – he never could resist a good payout. Where there was money to be made, Beraht was never very far away.

"Nothing gets past you, huh?" came the response – more sarcastic than genuine, though that was hardly a surprise. "There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up, and _this_ Proving? This is better than most. Especially given the news that the princess herself will be in attendance. With everyone going at it extra hard to impress Her Highness, things are more interesting than they would be otherwise."

"We totally know what you mean, Beraht," Leske piped up then, moving forwards until he was standing beside Joachim, all while shooting him a meaningful look that presumably was his way of begging Joachim not to make it worse. "What d'you need us to do?"

"Favoured fighter's an officer named Mainar; a veteran of four darkspawn campaigns," Beraht continued, taking barely any notice of Leske's ass kissing. _"Everd's_ a longshot. Just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who has all the ladies drooling."

It took all of Joachim's self-control not to yawn. "And…?" he prompted dryly.

_"And,_ I've got a _lot_ of money riding on him," Beraht finished with a growl, his glare never quite leaving Joachim's face. "Mine _and_ other people's. So you'll understand why I'm kinda _keen_ to see those eighty-to-one odds pay off."

"So… what, you want us to force our way in and break Mainar's legs?"

"You're a _funny_ kid, you know that?" Beraht drawled. "No, you idiot. I _want_ you to get inside Mainar's chambers, see when he's fighting Everd, and dump _this,"_ he tossed a small pouch in Joachim's direction, "in the bastard's water just before the fight. It'll slow him just enough to take the edge off."

Joachim caught the small leather pouch with one hand and quickly began silently examining it, a thousand questions flooding into his mind; none of which Beraht was likely to answer if he asked them. Like, could someone detect it, and was Everd a strong enough fighter to win regardless, and how exactly he and Leske, two casteless dwarves with no social standing to speak of, planned to get inside the Proving Grounds in the first place.

That seemed kind of pressing, actually.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, Beraht handed something that looked suspiciously like official passes – either forged or stolen, most likely – to Leske, before gesturing at the door.

"And when I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance, like the value of your miserable little _life,"_ he continued, looking squarely at Joachim now. "If I don't see Everd's name on the winner's sheet, you'd better make sure I never see _you,_ or your _sister,_ ever again."

Joachim tensed at the threat, his fists clenching so tightly they began to shake. Anger crashed over him like a tidal wave and he found himself having to fight tooth and nail just to keep his composure. It shouldn't have set him off as much as it did, but somehow, hearing Beraht threaten Rica like that… it meant something.

Probably because he knew Beraht could – and undoubtedly _would_ – go through with it. He'd already displayed his willingness to destroy people's entire lives over the smallest perceived slights. Joachim had seen it happen to so many other people like him – families of desperate casteless looking for any way out of the shithole that was their lives. He was determined not to become just another victim.

"Well?" Beraht growled as neither he nor Leske moved. "What're you waiting for? Proving starts in an hour or so, you don't have all day."

Immediately, Leske nodded, quickly reaching out and grabbing Joachim's upper arm and pulling him back towards the exit.

"Sure thing boss," he said with a small two-finger salute, opening the door and pushing Joachim through it. "We got it covered. Don't you worry about a thing."

Joachim staggered from the force of Leske's shove, barely able to regain his balance and prevent himself from falling flat on his ass in the middle of the street. He glared up at Leske as he recovered, his lips pursed into a thin line and his expression sour, but his friend paid him no mind.

"For the sake of the sodding ancestors, Joachim, quit picking fights you can't win," Leske muttered as he carefully made sure Beraht's shop door was fully closed. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"He's going to get what's coming to him," Joachim replied tersely. "One day, he's going to regret threatening my family like that."

Leske rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled away from the shop entrance, instead heading off in the direction of the Proving Grounds as Joachim trailed behind him.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, dragging his fingers over his face in exasperation. "If gold fell out of my mouth as I talked, that'd be fucking brilliant. And only _slightly_ more likely!"

Joachim didn't reply to that. There wasn't any point. Leske had always been the more quick-witted of the two, and that wasn't about to change. Joachim knew that words weren't his friends. They never really had been. All he had were principles and fat lot of good _that_ was when he found himself breaking them every day.

The way to the Proving Grounds was crawling with people – probably every caste in Orzammar had a strong representation within the thronging crowd. Joachim couldn't help but keep his head low, out of some kind of shame he knew he was conditioned to have. All he could do was try not to bother anyone too much and hope to the ancestors that no one would take notice of a couple more people fighting their way through the seemingly endless crowd.

All this insanity for just one Proving? Yeva really _was_ popular. He was at a loss as to why. But then, given the choice between her or her brothers, Joachim was inclined to say he'd probably pick Yeva too. He just didn't want to admit it. He _wouldn't_ admit that. Not when there was the possibility of her finding out. And given their situation? There was _always_ the possibility of her finding out.

What would she think, when she realised he had infiltrated her Proving? That he was directly responsible for sabotaging one of the fighters that was to compete in her honour? She may not even care. Alternatively, she could call for his head herself, any connection between them be damned.

Was she really that petty? Probably. Royals always were.

He was so wrapped up in his own anxieties that he barely even noticed the brief confrontation between Leske and the guards who stood watch over the grounds. He barely acknowledged when he was told to stick to the trenches and remain unseen out of fear the princess would notice their presence. He didn't really feel it when Leske gripped his wrist and pulled him roughly forwards, through some doors and down a hall that was lined with rooms upon rooms upon rooms, where the individual fighters could recuperate after their bouts.

He'd never been here before. He'd never been allowed. Maybe it should've meant something, walking these halls for the first time in his life, but he couldn't bring himself to be impressed. He'd seen it all before, countless times, through Yeva's eyes. Seeing it with his own, it didn't look any different.

"Mainar… _Mainar…"_ Leske muttered as he continued out in front, carefully scanning each of the countless doors they passed. "You know, it'd be a whole lot fucking easier to find this asshole if Beraht had told us where to look."

"Sure," Joachim agreed with a grunt. "But since when did Beraht do anything that could be construed as _helpful?"_

Leske stopped in his tracks then, turning on the spot just to give Joachim an odd look. There was a somewhat tense pause as the two dwarves watched each other, Joachim quickly wilting under Leske's confused but somehow still critical gaze.

"…what?"

"You talk so bloody _weird_ sometimes," Leske replied, his eyes narrowing a little. _"Construed._ What casteless says that?"

Joachim blinked in surprise.

_Shit._

Stupid. Damn. _Superior human education._

Why? _Why,_ of _all_ the things he could've absorbed through the others, did it have to be all the big words that only made people more wary of him? Why couldn't it be something _useful,_ like an understanding of magic, or how to fight with something slightly more substantial than the occasional shank? Why did it have to be _words?_

"Well, you know," he began shakily, a distinct anxious edge in his tone as he frantically tried to think of _anything _he could use as an excuse. "Rica's all about that now. Guess I picked some stuff up from her."

Whether Leske bought that, Joachim didn't know. Part of him doubted it, but still hoped the subject wouldn't be pressed, regardless. He _really_ didn't want to be the first person of all of them to tell an outsider the truth. He was positive Leske wouldn't believe him, anyway. The whole things sounded too much like magic, and dwarves very specifically didn't _do_ magic.

"Whatever you say," Leske responded tiredly, before nodding at something behind Joachim. "That door over there is open."

Joachim whirled around to see that the door Leske was looking at had been left slightly ajar. "…so?"

_"So,_ every fighter has a timetable, right? Let's take a look while we can," Leske told him, pushing forwards. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get real lucky and it'll be Mainar's quarters."

"Sounds a little like you're depending on divine intervention there, Leske."

"What can I say? I'm an optimist," Leske responded brightly, pushing the door further open and stepping inside, only to almost immediately stop. _"Ancestors._ Smells like a sodding brewery in here."

"Ooh, somebody's been _drinking,"_ Joachim responded in a sing-song voice the instant he made his way into the room himself and was immediately hit with the almost overwhelming stench of alcohol.

Bottles of various kinds littered the floor, dominating almost every surface in the room. Quickly, Joachim bent down and picked one up, hoping to score some free booze while Leske found and began reading the timetable nailed to the wall, but found it sadly empty. As he continued throughout the room, he was starting to realise that _all_ the bottles were empty.

It seemed they had stumbled in on _quite_ the alcoholic. This guy could probably give that angry old redheaded drunk in Tapsters a run for his money. If he hadn't known any better, Joachim might've thought he _was_ the angry old redheaded drunk from Tapsters.

But he did know better, and as he rounded the corner, the man he discovered collapsed on the floor and half falling down the stairs was, in fact, young and blond.

Joachim smirked, nudging the unconscious man with his toe.

"Guess he couldn't take the pressure and started on the grog," he chuckled. "Some fucking _warrior."_

He glanced back at Leske, expecting to hear him laugh, or at least see a _smile_ on his face, but his friend simply stood there, rooted to the spot, all the colour quickly having drained from his face at the sight of the unconscious fighter.

"We're screwed," he murmured. "We're totally fucking_ screwed."_

"What? What're you even on about? We only just _got_ here."

Leske shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that's Everd."

Immediately, Joachim felt his blood run cold in his veins.

No.

No, no, _no._ It couldn't be. The universe wasn't _that _cruel.

"Everd?" he repeated, his voice strangely flat considering the storm of emotion building up inside. "Like, the man Beraht wants to win, _Everd?"_

Leske didn't reply, instead kneeling over the man on the floor, gripping his face turning it towards him.

"Hey," he called sharply, slapping the young man's cheek. "Hey, asshole. You're drunk."

The poor excuse for a warrior let out a delirious chuckle and rolled over onto his side, his hands blindly reaching out for whomever was speaking to him.

"Mm… hey darlin'," he slurred, his eyes never opening. "You come to see me fight? Everd's more than just a warrior… lemme show you… you'll see…"

Leske let out a dismissive growl as he pulled back, easily breaking Everd's weak grip.

"Yeah, that's him," he confirmed, the despair now clear in his voice. "Sodding idiot, drinking before a fight. A _dead man_ could beat him!"

Joachim pulled back, his mind reeling as he was forced to take in the reality of the situation. He'd never really put much stake in the idea that casteless dwarves had been rejected by the Stone and the ancestors, but this really did seem to prove that assumption. The universe really _was_ that cruel, and it had decided to screw _him_ over in particular.

Because he was casteless?

Because he joined the Carta?

Because he was a dirty, good for nothing criminal who didn't deserve happiness or comfort?

All of the above?

He didn't know.

He began to pace then, relentlessly crossing the length of the room and back again, running his hands through his hair and trying desperately not to look at the unconscious form of the warrior upon which _everything_ was riding.

_Of course_ this would happen! Why _wouldn't_ it happen? Why did he _ever_ expect things to go smoothly? The ancestors were conspiring against him and there was nothing he could do about it. They _wanted_ him to get on Beraht's bad side and subsequently pay the price. Why had he ever gotten it into his head that he deserved anything more than that?

He supposed they could keep looking for Mainar, but fat lot of good that was going to do now. Drugs or not, Everd was going to lose, if he even showed up for his bout at all, and Joachim would find himself being thrown into the lava sinks before the day was over.

And _Rica-_

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He _couldn't._

But there was no way out of this. No way at all, unless Everd _miraculously_ sobered up in the next five minutes and became a better fighter than anything the Warrior Caste had ever seen. At this point, Joachim _himself_ had a better chance of winning against Mainar.

He stopped then, tensing as the thought crossed his mind, even as every fibre in his being screamed at him that it was insane, that it was never going to work, and that he needed to get out of here, find Rica, and flee to the surface before Beraht found out anything.

Could he do that? Could he make it out in time? Could he convince Rica and their mother to come with him? The guards would stop them, probably. And Rica had always been the most resistant to the idea of the surface. She wouldn't leave. She'd insist on trying her luck with her patron, and Beraht would kill her for it. He'd find a way to get to her, no matter how powerful her patron was. Beraht had fingers in all sorts of pots. If he wanted something done, there was nothing that could stop him.

He let out a frustrated growl and angrily lashed out, kicking the wall with all the force he could muster.

Why was this happening? Why was it happening to _him,_ right _now?_ This wasn't a decision he'd been prepared to make today. Things were never supposed to get this bad, this quickly.

"Sod it all," he hissed, pulling away from the wall and turning on the spot to face the chamber door. "I'll do it."

Leske blinked several times, confused and more than a little shocked. "You'll _what?"_

"I'll do it," he repeated, trying desperately to sound more confident and assured than he felt. "I'll fight in the Proving instead."

"Are you insane?" Leske asked. _"You're _going to fight Mainar?"

"You got any _better _ideas?"

Leske's eyes darted from Everd sprawled out on the floor, to Joachim, and back again several times before he let out an exhausted groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I- …no. _Shit."_

"There you go then."

"You're fucking _insane,_ salroka. He'll_ murder_ you."

"I can fight."

"You can throw a _punch,"_ Leske corrected. "Fat lot of good that'll do you against a trained swordsman of the Warrior Caste. This is suicide."

Joachim threw his hands up into the air helplessly. He knew Leske was right, but what other option was there?

There wasn't.

There wasn't any other option.

He had to do this.

He _had_ to, and maybe, just _maybe,_ Rica's boyfriend, whomever he happened to be, would be enough to protect her.

He could only hope.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "But it's suicide either way. I'll take Mainar over Beraht any day."

Leske shook his head, torn between awe and pity. Finally, after way too long, he slapped Joachim on the back in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner, not that it much felt like it.

"Didn't think you'd ever be one to suddenly develop a _death wish."_

"Just piss off already and let me get in the damn armour, would you?"

There was an agonisingly long pause as Leske hesitated and Joachim just stood there, glaring at him in the vain hope that would get him to move any faster. He didn't know what else to do. He had no real idea of what he was even planning to _do,_ only knowing that it would likely end in a horrible death for him. But if Mainar killed him, at least it would be quick, and a warrior's death. A far better end than whatever creative solution Beraht would inevitably come up with.

Perhaps Leske hesitated to leave because he knew that too. Perhaps some part of both of them understood that they may never see each other again, once he did.

"I'll… uh, I'll- I guess I'll go keep watch," Leske muttered finally.

"You do that," Joachim grunted, keeping his attention fixated on Everd's armour as he heard retreating footsteps, followed by the sound of a door being clicked shut.

It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never worn proper armour before. Certainly not this elaborate and expensive heavy plate. Slowly, he inched towards it, terrified of even touching it, as it gleamed so brightly. He knew what would happen to him if he got caught. He'd lose both of his hands just for taking the armour, let alone illegally competing in a Proving. He'd be lucky if he got away with a clean death after this. He'd be lucky if all they did to him was have him be hanged, drawn, and quartered.

It was all so pathetic, really. Here he was, a hardened casteless criminal and an enforcer of the Carta, too afraid to even get _near_ a warrior's armour, for fear of the consequences.

And yet inching towards it all the same.

Truly, this was the most desperate he'd ever been.

He reached out, fingers outstretched as they slowly moved closer and closer to the breastplate, until he was finally just close enough to feel the cool, smooth metal brush against his fingertips, and-

"Your… _friend_ is right," a new but still horrifying familiar voice pointed out sharply, causing Joachim to bite back a scream as he leapt back in surprise. "Mainar is a veteran and a warrior of skill far above your own."

Frantically, Joachim whipped around, eyes wide with fear and clutching his hand to his chest, his gaze coming to rest on the young woman standing before him.

This was everything he'd been hoping would never happen.

"O-oh! Hey!" he practically screamed out in panic, already taking several steps backwards in some final desperate attempt to get away from her. "It's- …uh, it's not what it looks like!"

The woman's eyes narrowed critically as she leaned back against the wall, folding her arms tightly across her chest and looking dismissive. Joachim kept moving back as far as possible, ultimately hitting the stone wall and wishing with every fibre of his being that he could simply melt into it. For so long, neither of them said anything, simply watched each other, him in fear and her out of some twisted curiosity.

Of course she would show up _now._ That was _so_ like her. He may as well prepare himself to be arrested, because he knew the guards would come bashing down the door any minute now.

"Isn't it?" she drawled quietly, critically glancing up and down his tensed frame. "Because it _looks_ like you're deliberately trying to sabotage a Proving."

"Why would I do such a thing?" he asked, hating himself as his voice immediately shot up an octave.

"You're casteless," she reminded him bluntly. "Why _wouldn't_ you?"

"Yeva-"

"You will _not_ address me by name," she cut across him viciously, her expression cold and hard. "Casteless don't have that right. _You_ are no exception."

Joachim tried not to flinch at her tone; at the dirty look on her face that she always had every time she found herself so much as glancing in his direction.

Once upon a time, she hadn't been like this. They used to look to each other as friends. They used to share so much of themselves with each other, strong in the solidarity of being two dwarves amongst a gaggle of elves and humans. But, just like his mother, just like everyone important to him in his life, Yeva had changed. He couldn't say when, exactly. It must have been a gradual shift, because he hadn't even noticed until, one day, she hadn't spoken to him in months and began watching him with the same cold glare she'd been wearing ever since. And soon, any connection, any semblance of friendship they'd once had, was nothing more than a distant, half-forgotten memory.

Joachim didn't know what he'd done to deserve her ire. He didn't know if _he'd_ done anything at all.

"Why _this _Proving?" she demanded as she moved forwards, pushing herself off the wall and beginning to pace the length of the room. "Why today? Do you know what today _is_ for me? Can you even _begin_ to understand what it _means?_ Are you doing this simply to torment me?!"

"It's not _about _you," he insisted, still pressing himself against the wall as hard as he possibly could, never taking his eyes off her. "If I don't do this, Beraht will kill me. _And_ Rica."

"I have had _enough_ of the things you claim to do in order to protect the little _whore_ you call a _half-sister,"_ she shot back at him, her tone low and icy – so much so that in that moment, Joachim wasn't sure whose wrath he found more frightening; hers, or Beraht's. "What does it matter, anyway? Your plan will never work. Even if you manage to keep your identity hidden, you will never win."

"I've got the drug," Joachim pointed out quietly, deciding that not reacting to her was his best possible course of action.

As much as he hated Yeva for the things she said, as much as he wanted to yell and scream at her, as much as he wanted to give her even _half_ the abuse she routinely gave him, he knew he couldn't. Because if he knew one thing about her, it was that she was in a far better position to hurt him than Beraht ever was.

Her lip only curled at his response, however.

"A drug that will not damage Mainar enough to give Everd, let alone an unskilled Carta _thug_ such as yourself, a chance to win," she hissed. "It's pointless. Beraht will lose his money, and he will place the blame on _you."_

Joachim hated that. Hated listening to her. Hated knowing she had a point, that she was _right._ But what else was he supposed to do? Just lay down and take it? That wasn't an option. She _knew_ it wasn't an option!

"Provings are more than just a test of martial skill," she continued, barely acknowledging him. "There's an etiquette everyone must abide by."

"So?"

_"So,_ you will need to be a better fighter to best Mainar," she pointed out. "And you will have to be a better _liar_ if you want to keep your identity hidden."

For the longest time, Joachim just stared at her, agape. A better fighter? A better liar? But that meant-

He groaned at the realisation.

"You want me to get Eugene to do this for me," he said in a flat, defeated deadpan.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, a few stray strands of her carefully and immaculately braided hair falling out of place. "I want you to _think,_ for once in your life. Who here has the training? Who here has competed in Provings countless times before? Who here knows you, knows Mainar, _and_ Everd; not to mention how each of you fight? _Who_ is this whole spectacle even _for?"_

There was a deathly silence as he stared, not ever quite processing her words properly. "Wait. Wait, wait, _wait. _You're not actually saying-?"

Yeva's hostile expression did not change.

"Put the armour on," she ordered, while squaring her shoulders and her eyes flicking up to meet his. "You won't fair well without it."

Suddenly, even though she was small and slight for a dwarf and a fair few inches shorter than he was, Joachim found himself too terrified to disobey her. He quickly snatched up Everd's armour and pulled it on, struggling with various buckles as he tried to frantically work out what went where. He struggled for almost a full minute before Yeva let out a thoroughly irritated sigh and quickly took over, expertly doing up the armour like it was her own. Joachim simply stood there and watched as she picked up the helmet, and pulled it down over his head, her thin, delicate fingers quickly and roughly tugging at the chin strap and pulling it almost uncomfortably tight.

"But I- …I don't understand," Joachim murmured, pushing up the visor so he could look at her properly, in some attempt to see any signs that she was having him on. _"Why_ are you doing this?"

"Because, like you, I have a _vested_ interest in keeping both you and your sister alive," she snarled, releasing her grip on the buckles of Everd's helmet, causing him to stagger back a step or two. "I don't know what happens when one of us dies. And I don't intend to find out."

The corners of Joachim's lips quirked at that. "You really want to compete, don't you?"

She shot him a dirty look as she reached up, clasped the sides of the visor, and brought it slamming back down. "I'm helping you manipulate the outcome of a Proving being held in my own honour. Do _not_ make me regret it."

Joachim winced slightly as it happened, unable to help but feel somewhat claustrophobic in the helmet. The armour was heavy – far more so than anything he'd ever worn before – and it clanked uncomfortably loudly with each step he took towards the door.

"Damn," Leske said with a low whistle as Joachim pushed open the door of Everd's quarters and emerged back into the hallway. "You actually kinda almost look the part. Where's the drug Beraht gave you? There's still time, I should be able to find Mainar's quarters and dump it in his water before the first bout starts."

Joachim glanced uneasily at Yeva, who simply rolled her shoulders back and exhaled loudly in what seemed to be sheer exasperation.

"No," she replied with such authority Leske actually backed away slightly in surprise. "No drugs. I win with skill alone."


	3. The Tower, Part I

_"Simple killing is__ a warrior's job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions… careless trust… pride._ _Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end."_

Ellis Surana woke with a start, his eyes snapping open only to see the wooden frame of the bunk above his, the final parting words of a pride demon still echoing throughout his mind. For what seemed like an absolute eternity, he simply remained there, propped up on his elbows, his chest heaving as the residual panic started to wear off and it finally began to dawn on him that he was safe. With a small, exhausted growl, he wiped his hand across his forehead, trying to clear the sweat from his brow. Suddenly, he felt like he was drowning in it.

"Hey," a voice called softly, causing his eyes to immediately snap up. "How are you doing?"

Ellis stiffened slightly at the sight of the other young mage sitting at the end of his bunk, watching him with the same exhausted expression he knew was plastered across his own features as well. His mouth quickly ran dry as he realised he didn't quite know what to say to her. So instead, he just grunted and went to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"Takes it out of you, huh?" Eisa murmured, still smiling that soft, gentle smile she always had. "You did really well last night, Ellis."

"You know I had help," he muttered, glancing away in some vain attempt to avoid her gaze. It was always weird when she complimented him like that – since they both knew she had set a standard no one, not even him, could ever live up to. People in the tower still talked about Eisa's own Harrowing, about how quick and smooth and clean it was, how she was a natural at almost everything when it came to magic, how she was so talented and so strong and so brave and so confident in her abilities; the epitome of what all mages should be. There was a reason she was the First Enchanter's star pupil, after all.

She nodded. "So did I. Something that sadly can't be avoided with us, it seems."

That much was true. It had always been like that, really. One of them couldn't seem to enter the Fade without the other six getting dragged along too. The amount of times they'd accidentally invaded each other's dreams… well. That had just been a fact of their existence for as long as any of them could remember. Their dreams had been the first place they'd lost any and all semblance of privacy, the first part of each other's lives where others had started to show up. He supposed he should be used to it by now.

Slowly, Ellis sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and trying to blink the exhaustion that gnawed on the edges of his mind away.

"I was expecting… I don't know. I thought it would be more like yours," he mumbled, his voice low and barely audible, but he knew she heard him.

Eisa coughed uncomfortably then and quickly made a point of staring off in the opposite direction.

"Yes," she began, her voice halting, "well. Every Harrowing is different."

"Not to mention, I've basically been cheating this entire time-"

"You didn't _cheat,_ Ellis."

"But I knew about it beforehand," he grumbled to no one in particular. "You didn't have that. And yet your Harrowing was flawless and mine-"

"You _passed,"_ she cut across him firmly, leaning over and placing her hand reassuringly over his. "That's all that matters. It's not a competition."

"Says the girl who's brilliant at _everything_ she does," he grumbled. "How do you even _do_ that?"

She shrugged, all while once again refusing to meet his gaze. "Must be luck."

"Don't give me _that."_

"I don't know what else to tell you. There's nothing I-"

She cut off abruptly, her face screwing up into an expression Ellis couldn't quite decipher, though he could feel the hostility coming off her in waves.

"…I… have to go," she said, her posture suddenly going rigid. "You should go and see Irving."

"Eisa-"

But she was already gone.

Ellis stared absently at the space she had previously occupied, completely at a loss to say what caused her sudden departure. There was no time to consider it though, as another completely different voice called out, echoing throughout the apprentice quarters.

_"Ellis!"_

The elf glanced up at the sound of his name, just in time to see Jowan charging towards him, looking terrified and relieved and determined, somehow all at the same time.

"You're okay," Jowan gasped in between frantic breaths the instant he reached the bed. "I'm so _glad_ you're okay."

"Morning, Jowan," Ellis replied quietly, a small, wry smile pulling at his lips. "How was your night? Mine was _wild."_

Jowan simply pulled a face at that, apparently torn between relief and exasperation. It seemed to be his constant state of being these days. Once upon a time, Ellis thought the quips had been helpful, something to distract them both from everything. By the time he noticed that it wasn't quite working anymore, it had already long-since become a habit he couldn't bring himself to break.

Maybe he should feel flattered that the matter of his welfare was a serious subject for Jowan. If he was being truly honest with himself, part of him simply appreciated having someone actually show concern for him – having someone who did that because he could, not because they shared some inexplicable psychic connection.

He loved and cared for the others deeply – of _course_ he did – but there was a strange kind of meaning in what he had with Jowan that couldn't be found anywhere else.

Jowan, his one weird scrawny human friend, who he'd almost mistaken for a fellow elf all those years ago.

"I'm okay," he affirmed quietly, his expression softening somewhat. "Just tired."

Finally, for what was probably the first time that morning, Jowan seemed to relax, the tension in his posture melting away somewhat as he practically slumped against the wooden post of Ellis' bunk.

"So?"

Ellis blinked in surprise, not really sure what Jowan was trying to prompt. "…so?"

"C'mon, you've got to tell me. What was it like?"

Ellis' brow creased. "What was _what_ like?"

"The _Harrowing!"_ Jowan said in a furious whisper-shout, quickly glancing around with wide eyes in case anyone was close enough to be listening in. "What else would I be asking about?"

Ellis quickly elected not to answer that, noting that Jowan didn't seem to be in the mood for humour of any kind this morning.

"I didn't even realise you were _gone_ until I spotted the templars bringing you back to bed this morning," Jowan continued without much care for Ellis' tired, slightly pained expression. "Some apprentices don't come back at all, you know? Is it really that dangerous?"

Ellis let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before his eyes finally flicked back up to meet his friend's.

"Jowan," he called – his voice quiet, but ultimately sharp. "Can you honestly name a _single_ apprentice who hasn't come back from their Harrowing since either of us have been here?"

Jowan pulled back at those words, his eyes widened ever so slightly and looking a little shocked – as if his entire world view had abruptly been shifted. He glanced up for a moment, his eyes twitching from side to side as he – as Ellis assumed – struggled to come up with a name, _any_ name, that would support his argument.

Instant regret.

He'd meant to calm Jowan _down_ with that, not dismiss him out of hand.

"That's not fair," he managed after too long. "I've heard that in other Circles-"

"This _isn't_ another Circle," Ellis interrupted. "Yes, it's dangerous. But everything anyone ever _does_ is dangerous. We throw fire and lightning at each other every day. We're trained to handle that, and we're trained to handle the Harrowing. It isn't any different."

He waited for a moment as he paused for breath, waiting for the inevitable argument he could almost see forming in his friend's mind. He really should've seen this onslaught coming – Jowan had been getting increasingly agitated the past few days, seemingly acting more and more paranoid by the day. Ellis should've seen earlier that it was anxiety over the Harrowing.

"I'm not saying it's easy," he continued quietly when Jowan said nothing. "I'm not saying there aren't any risks. But there's a _reason_ people aren't called until they're deemed able to handle it."

"Well, what about the Tranquil?"

Ellis had to resist the almost overwhelming urge to groan. "What _about_ the Tranquil?"

"They didn't pass _their_ Harrowings."

"Tranquil don't _have_ Harrowings."

"Some Tranquil do!"

_"Some_ Tranquil are made that because they're dangerous to themselves and everyone around them, including other mages. The Rite isn't done without reason. Maybe in other Circles, but not here. Greagoir's a hardass, but he isn't _corrupt."_

And thank the Maker for it. Everyone had heard the seemingly endless horror stories of violently strict templars who forced brutal punishments on their charges for no justifiable reason. Kinloch Hold honestly seemed _progressive_ by comparison, though that wasn't exactly a comforting thought. In truth, Ellis couldn't honestly say how he felt about the situation he found himself in. The templars and the constant threat of death or worse if he wasn't good enough terrified him, yes. But he'd be lying if he said he'd rather be out there, on his own in the real world. He'd seen the real world, through both his own eyes and that of others. No one seemed to have a good time there. Everyone – even nobles like Eugene and Yeva who seemed to have everything anyone could want – was restricted in their own way, confined to a certain place, a certain way of being. Everyone's lives were shit, somehow. There was no point in trying to play misery poker with them. It wasn't a game anyone was going to win, and at this point, he was tired of trying.

He just wished Jowan would realise that. That he'd stop coveting some abstract notion of freedom that no one actually had.

"Jowan," he called, deciding right then and there to try a gentler tactic. "I'm just trying to say that there's nothing to be afraid of."

_More like being afraid will only make it worse,_ some snide thought cut in. _But hey, what's the difference?_

He winced slightly at his own brain, but Jowan almost immediately perked up in the slight change of tone and topic.

"But what exactly did they make you _do?"_

"Why are you so keen to know?"

"Who _wouldn't_ be? Come on, I just want to know. What harm is a little curiosity?"

"If I didn't know any better," Ellis said as his expression quickly hardened, "I'd say you were trying to cheat."

Jowan pulled back at that, affronted and maybe a little hurt from the suggestion. "Are you being serious right now? I thought we were _friends."_

"We _are,"_ Ellis replied a little hotly.

"Well, you could've fooled me!" Jowan quickly snapped back, before letting out an agitated sigh and throwing his hands into the air. "Whatever. I guess I was kidding myself when I thought you'd take me seriously."

_"Jowan-"_

"I mean, you're only _my best friend-"_

"Playing the guilt card already? That's kinda _low,_ don't you think?"

Jowan paid him no mind. "And now you'll move upstairs and have your own fancy quarters and-"

"Are you _still_ upset about not being called?" Ellis asked – demanded, really – as his eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Jowan, we've been _over_ this. They'll call you for the Harrowing. When you're _ready,_ like they do with _everyone."_

"I've been here longer than you," Jowan pointed out bitterly.

"Twelve years," Ellis retorted. "Eisa was an apprentice for something like _fifteen_ years before she got called – and she _did_ get called."

There was something of a tense silence between the two of them as Ellis waited patiently for a reply and Jowan simply stared blankly for what felt like an excruciating eternity.

"Eisa?" he repeated blandly, after what felt like way too long. "You mean that Amell girl?"

"How many other people called Eisa do you know?" Ellis shot back dryly, trying not to wince as he realised he'd been overly familiar about her again. As far as anyone in the tower knew, he'd barely spoken to Eisa in all the time he'd been here. They'd agreed it had to be this way long ago, out of fear of what the templars would do to them if they suspected any kind of connection between them. Greagoir was twitchy enough as it was; the revelation of yet more magic he didn't understand would only get them made Tranquil.

Which was a punishment to fear even under normal circumstances, let alone under _theirs._

Sometimes, they were individuals with their own lives, their actions having little to no bearing on each other. Other times, what happened to one of them happened to _all_ of them. It was impossible to predict, so they all just played it as safe as they could. It was the only thing they _could_ do. They were all depending on each other just for survival, half the time.

"Like that's even the _same,"_ Jowan argued, bringing Ellis sharply back to reality.

_"How_ is it not the same?"

"Well, she got her magic really young, right? Of course she'd have to wait longer."

"Oh my _gosh,"_ Ellis deadpanned. "You're right. It's almost as if that makes complete sense. It's almost as if the same thing probably applies to you too."

"You got called before me."

"And loads of apprentices got called before Eisa. You're being _paranoid,_ Jowan."

That apparently did absolutely nothing to alleviate Jowan's fears, as he continued nervously fidgeting, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. At that point, Ellis was at a loss as to what he _could_ say that would have any meaningful impact; Jowan seemed determined to fall into an anxious heap no matter what.

"If you just told me what's involved-"

"Jowan," Ellis called sharply, quickly cutting his friend off. _"Why_ are you so _obsessed_ with this all of a sudden?"

At the sound of his question, Jowan quickly made a point of glancing off in the opposite direction – even though his refusal to make eye contact only put Ellis even more on edge.

"I…" he began awkwardly, _still_ shuffling constantly from side to side, never quite able to stay in one place. "I was- uh, I was talking to Senior Enchanter Uldred the other day – before he left for Ostagar, I mean – and… well, he-"

It took almost every fibre of self-control Ellis had not to smack his palm against his forehead and groan exasperatedly. "Oh for the _love of-_ …Jowan. Stop _talking_ to him."

That earned him little more than a dirty look, before Jowan let out a loud, irritated exhale and began massaging his temples furious in what was probably an attempt to alleviate an incoming headache.

"Fine, _fine._ Whatever. I get it," he grouched, mostly to himself. "I'm supposed to tell you to see Irving, when you're ready."

"Jowan…" Ellis called his name, as his friend made his way to the door. "Just _tell_ me what's going on with you. I might be able to help."

"Don't bother," came the sullen reply as Jowan didn't stop, or even slow down. "I'd just be wasting your time."

"Jowan!" Ellis shouted, clambering out of bed, all too late to stop him. "C'mon Jowan, I didn't mean- _Jowan!"_

But he was already gone.

Ellis practically collapsed on the floor then, staring absently at the door, almost completely at a loss. How had he managed to screw up talking so badly? He thought he'd been supportive, mostly. Where did he go so wrong? Why did _nothing_ seem to come out of his mouth right? Why was this still something he struggled with?

He let out a quiet groan and leaned back against his bunk, closing his eyes and trying his best to relax, to calm the tension still laced throughout his muscles from the trauma of the morning. He doubted _that_ was going away any time soon, not while he could so clearly remember to low voice of the pride demon, purring softly in his ear; not to mention the sick, twisted curiosity emanating from the creature as it sensed that he was far from alone.

Ellis winced slightly as he thought about it, about the others, all standing with him in the Fade, all tense, all distrustful of everything and anything around them, the memory of Eisa's Harrowing still too fresh in all their minds. The demon really hadn't stood a chance, not against the seven of them, and it seemed to realise that. But pride – _pride_ was smart. Pride was insidious. Pride got inside people's heads and rotted them from the inside out, picking at their sanity until there was nothing left.

How was he supposed to fight against a concept? How was he supposed to defeat an idea? How was he supposed to best an emotion, something that was as quintessentially part of him as _he_ was? He couldn't simply cut all those pieces away. There would be nothing left to corrupt.

He shook his head slightly to one side and tried not to think about it. Remembering it, remembering its words, would only make its hold on him and his soul even stronger.

Demons knew him now. The idea, the memory, the experience of him would spread, to the farthest reaches of the Fade itself, until every single one of its denizens knew him as if they themselves had all met him in person, as if they experienced _exactly_ what Pride had. More would come, and he would be left to fight them all off, one by one as they assaulted his mind, each and every night for as long as he dared to dream.

It terrified him. Almost more than anything else. Almost as much as it terrified Eisa.

He could feel it even now; her fear, her apprehension, her never-ceasing need to pray, to cleanse herself of corruption, as if the Maker gave a rat's ass about her, about _anyone_ in this mortal realm – if He even existed at _all,_ the first place. It hadn't even been _her_ Harrowing, and yet he could feel her, feel how intensely it had affected her, more so than even him. He could even feel her frantic attempts to hide it from the rest of them. From the others, she managed to shield herself, but from _him?_ He got everything. And he'd never had the heart to tell her. He didn't know why, exactly. Because he was a mage? Because they were in such close physical proximity? There were endless theories.

Slowly, with a long, somewhat pained sigh, Ellis pushed himself back up to his feet, carefully stretching out his muscles and trying to calm himself as much as possible before heading out. He couldn't keep thinking about this – about the Harrowing, about Jowan's paranoid behaviour, about Eisa's soul-crushing anxieties. As much as it was dictated by others, he still had his own life to live.

He rolled his shoulders back as he exited the apprentice dormitory, trying not to wince too much at the sound of his shoes clicking against the hard polished stone floor.

He was still in his robes, he realised dully. The templars must've carried him back from the Harrowing Chamber and just dumped back into bed, still fully dressed. He'd slept in the clothes he was wearing.

He'd _slept_ in his _shoes._

Quickly, with an agitated grumble, he stopped just short of the library, leaning on the wall and furiously kicking them off his feet, suddenly anxious for his toes to be free. He didn't care that the floor of the tower remained cold stone, the morning sun's warmth having barely crept in through the windows to warm the place up. He didn't care as a templar passed by, taking clear note of him struggling in a corner, all but tossing his shoes away the instant he was free of them.

_"Elves,"_ he heard the man grunt dismissively in his direction before disappearing around a corner.

There was nothing worth saying to that, so Ellis remained silent, quickly entering the library at large, leaving his shoes abandoned and unwanted in the hall. He didn't care. He was sure they would find their way back to him, as they usually did. And if they didn't, he wouldn't mourn the loss. Shoes were a formality, and forgoing them was not a crime.

Of course, that hadn't saved him from several stern speeches about respect over the course of his time here.

The library was still relatively quiet, with only a few mages dotted about the place, most poring over piles of tomes, while some of the younger apprentices – the ones who could still very much be called children – were enduring their morning lectures before the older ones would trickle in and start actually practicing spells. A couple templars kept careful watch, as they always did, quiet and sullen and decked out in full armour, only trading the occasional word with each other.

Ellis couldn't help but feel just a _little_ sorry for them. Library guard duty must be the dullest thing imaginable.

So many of the templars came from various minor noble families; younger sons and daughters that won't inherit anything, but still pushed into doing something honourable by their family. So many of them had come to the Chantry in the hopes of making something of their lives… how disappointing it must be to find out one's destiny is skulking around in the corner of a library, watching people research and attend lectures and generally do things that could only be described as the exact _opposite_ of exciting.

And the others? Bastards, orphans, and maybe the occasional low-born peasant who somehow managed to convince the Chantry to allow them to participate in training. All of them brought up to believe in a greater destiny. All of them only disappointed in where life had led them. All of them trapped here, just as much as the mages were.

The Chantry really did like to screw absolutely everyone over, didn't it?

He headed up the stairs then, up to the senior mage's quarters, up to the First Enchanter's office, where he imagined Irving was either rifling through his own research or locked in a tense argument with Greagoir for whatever reason.

Probably about the mages that were sent to Ostagar.

Lately, it was _always_ about Ostagar.

"You are no longer an apprentice," he heard Irving say soothingly as he approached the door – to someone who was very decidedly _not _the Knight-Commander. "You must learn to trust yourself. This was the right thing to do."

Ellis sighed quietly and paused for a moment, part of his mind already on the other side of the door, where Eisa paced relentlessly, raking her hands through her hair from the sheer stress of it all.

And then;

"Please, don't wait around out here on my account," her voice abruptly murmured in his ear.

_"Fu-!"_ Ellis started to scream, leaping away from the door just it opened to reveal Eisa – the real, physical form of Eisa – standing there with expectant eyes and behind her, the First Enchanter standing at his desk. "…ff… uh… ha… mm."

"Eight years, newly graduated, and Ellis Surana _still_ conveniently forgets to wear his shoes," Irving called as Ellis trailed off into awkward silence, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, more amused than exasperated. "It seems some things will never change."

Ellis shrugged innocently. "I misplaced them?"

"Young man, the day I believe that will be the day I must retire," the old man replied dryly. "You never like to make these things easy, do you?"

He quickly elected not to reply to that, as it didn't seem to be a question that demanded an answer. Or he hoped that was the case, anyway. He'd gotten that wrong too many times to count in the past.

Thankfully though, no one seemed to be looking at him strangely as he stood there in silence.

"You have done all that was asked of you, and passed the Harrowing," Irving said brightly, holding out a bundle of cloth Ellis could only assume was a new set of robes – all mages received one such set upon passing their final exam. "You are now a fully qualified mage of the Circle. Congratulations."

Eisa beamed at him too, eyes bright and her smile wide as Ellis awkwardly accepted the robes from Irving.

"Thank you, First Enchanter," he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, unable to stand the thought of direct eye contact in that moment.

"Knight-Commander Greagoir has already overseen your phylactery's transfer to Denerim," Irving continued, quickly returning his attention to whatever papers were sprawled out across his desk. "And of course you've been assigned new quarters. Some of the templars took the liberty of gathering your belongings and bringing them to your new living space."

Ellis blinked several times and had to choke back a horrified gasp as he paled at the thought. He didn't have anything to hide, but there was something so… _uncomfortable_ about the idea of templars going through his stuff. His _personal_ stuff. His personal stuff that belonged to him that he didn't want anyone seeing, not even his friends, let alone some thick-headed warriors who thought they had the right to- …to… _look. _Because since _when_ did the templars have any appreciation for someone's privacy?

"Eisa, would you do me the invaluable favour of showing our new brother of the Circle where he will be sleeping from now on?"

Eisa barely reacted to the request, simply giving the First Enchanter a cheerful nod. "Of course, First Enchanter."

With that, she gestured at Ellis to follow her, and quickly led him out of the office, not saying as she leaned on the door until it clicked quietly shut behind her. Ellis stood there, waiting patiently as she let out a soft, calming exhale and her eyes flicked down to the floor.

"What is it with you and shoes?" she asked exasperatedly, gesturing pointedly at his bare feet. "Have you always been like this, or did you pick it up from Aneurin?"

Ellis shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "Honestly, I don't even remember."

He knew they hadn't been born connected the way they were now, but it was all so long ago he couldn't quite recall what life was like without it, or what he'd even been like at the time. They were young when it began, he knew that. Too young. Too young really, to understand, to wrap their heads around what was happening to them at the time. Fifteen years or so down the track, and they still didn't really know or understand what was happening to them.

At least now he didn't almost have a stroke every time he looked in the mirror only to find someone else's reflection staring back.

"I'm just glad it's over," Eisa murmured, her quiet voice abruptly bringing him back into reality. "I'll sleep better, knowing we never have to do the Harrowing again."

"You and me both," Ellis grunted, reaching up to his face to once again rub his eyes. "Now we've just got to worry about demons attacking us every night."

"That's literally what the Harrowing is for," she pointed out, slowly moving away from Irving's office door and heading off down the hall, Ellis quickly falling into step beside her. "Preparing you for the onslaught."

"By throwing us in the deep end without warning?"

"Because _demons_ will always warn you before trying to possess you?" she shot back, before her expression quickly grew distant. "I worry about the others, though."

"Why? The others aren't mages."

"Exactly. They're _not_ mages," she said, dragging her hands through her hair as anxiety became more and more pronounced in everything she did. "But if the Fade notices us, it notices _them,_ too."

"That isn't being _just slightly_ paranoid?"

"You know as well as I do that demons can see us," she argued. _"All_ of us, whether we're in the Fade or not. We can't hide from that."

That… was a frighteningly good point, Ellis realised, the blood very quickly draining from his face. There really wouldn't be any hiding from this. Not anymore, if there ever had been.

"Eisa, can you not _say_ things like that? I need to be able to sleep at night."

She glanced away at that, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Sorry. Uh… your room's over here. This way."

With that, she practically ran off, down the hall to where the mage quarters had all been clustered together. The rooms were tiny – they had to be, since there was only so much room within the tower – but they afforded space and privacy where as in the apprentice dorms there was none. Ellis was happy to take the upgrade.

He continued along at a casual walking pace, heading off in the direction Eisa had disappeared, eventually rounding a corner to find her standing by a door, waiting for him. Ellis arched an eyebrow at her as he came close, confused by her behaviour as she shifted ceaselessly from side to side, frantically wringing her hands in some attempt to purge herself of the nervous energy that seemed to permeate everything about her.

"First Jowan, now you," he sighed as he reached her proper. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting _jumpy_ lately?"

Almost automatically, she waved him off. "Just… nothing. Don't worry about it. I should- …I need to get back to the chantry."

Ellis arched an eyebrow at her fumbling reply. "Anxious to get back to praying the magic away, are you?"

He tried not to feel too much satisfaction when he noticed her lip curl ever so slightly. Key word being _tried._

For someone so good at magic, Eisa did spend an inordinate amount of time doing everything possible to rid herself of it. Once, he'd felt sorry for her. Sorry that she'd been conditioned to hate herself so much. But as time went on, as Eisa continued to stubbornly cling to religion despite it doing absolutely nothing for her, as he watched her feed it and it in turn feed her own overpowering self-loathing, that pity had turned to exasperation. She was so _smart,_ so brilliant, and _so_ talented. It didn't make sense that she couldn't bring herself to see the Chantry for what it really was.

It was _using _her – using them _all._ As villains, as scapegoats for a supposed sin committed over a thousand years ago. Using them as some spectre of evil to frighten the general public with. Using them to fight and die in battles that had nothing to do with them, only lock them all away again. It used them, just like it used the templars, just like it used _everyone._ And Eisa had somehow bought it, hook, line, and sinker.

It was almost distressing, seeing someone with so much potential go to waste like that.

"Does it feel good?" she asked him, a distinct edge in her voice as her hands balled up into tight fists and everything about her seemed to go completely rigid. "Belittling someone for having something they actually believe in? Does it make you feel powerful? Fill that big empty void inside you?"

He tapped his fingers against his chin and gave a little hum in what was quite clearly mock-thoughtfulness.

"More than the Chantry does, at any rate," he told her brightly.

She watched him, eyes narrowed and wary, her lips parting slightly as she began to say something, only to think better of it. Ellis' jaw tightened, already knowing what she'd come so close to telling him. He could see it, written all over her expression, echoing endlessly in her mind before she could quash it.

_You're more like your parents than you think._

It hurt him. It hurt him so much more than anything else she could've said, and she _knew_ that. Eisa always did have an uncanny ability to cut right to the core of people. To this day, she remained the only one who had ever managed to completely disarm and ultimately take Eugene down in an argument.

They could all see into each other's minds. Eisa seemed to see straight into the _soul._

"Low _fucking_ blow, Eisa," he hissed back at her, snarling like a wounded animal.

She barely flinched, though he could feel the regret welling up inside her as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not saying you have to believe it, or that it has to be important to you," she said, her voice low and somewhat cold, despite all her efforts to be gentle. "I'm asking you to respect that it's important to _me."_

He didn't have anything to say to that, and maybe just as well. Eisa simply gave him a long, meaningful look before withdrawing; her hand sliding off his shoulder a little awkwardly as she turned and walked away, in the direction of the chantry.

For so long, Ellis stared blankly after her, his mind caught up in memories from over a decade ago now, memories he knew were better off forgotten.

He shook his head in an almost violent fashion then, trying to clear his mind of them. He didn't want to think about it. Not now. Not _ever._

Instead, he pushed open the door to his new room, unmoving as it swung open, revealing the small, depressingly bare space. A chest – presumably full of his things – had been placed at the foot of the bed which was shoved into a corner. Across from that, a small desk. Hanging on the wall, a mirror. Everything was neatly packed away it looked like no one had stepped foot in this room, let alone _lived _in it, for an age or so.

_Welcome to the rest of your life,_ he thought bitterly, surveying it all.

Still. He was better off here than where he was.

He'd genuinely believed that, this morning. Now he wasn't so sure.

Somewhere, in a dark and ignored corner of his mind, pride's lips pulled back into a frightening smile, a shiver went up Ellis' spine as dreadful claws buried themselves deep in his chest.

_"You are a true mage, one of the few,"_ the memory of it whispered in his ear, its unnaturally cool breath caressing his neck. _"You deserve so much better."_

Ellis jerked his head to one side and an effort to ignore it, not wanting to deal with this right now. He knew those thoughts weren't his; not entirely. He knew there was something else, something behind them, something watching and waiting for him to hesitate, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew that, despite all his efforts, he would never truly be rid of it. Because he was here. Because he was a mage. Because part of being a mage was the very reality he found himself facing now.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise.

It came then, a cacophony of voices, whispering and wailing and screeching over top of each other in a barely coherent mess of noise that filled Ellis' head, building into a roar that drowned out everything else, even his own thoughts.

If he even _had_ thoughts he could still call his own.

_"They can't keep treating you like this."_

_"They can't get away with this."_

_"Take the power."_

"Shut up…" he groaned, slapping his palm to his forehead, hoping the abrupt shock of pain would be enough to make it stop, or at least distract him from it.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, behind all the noise, behind even what little remained of his own consciousness, he felt Eisa flinch away from him; recoiling in pain as she fell to her knees, shaking violently as tears sprang into her eyes and she frantically fought to steel her mind against him, and the parasitic thoughts and feelings that had infected him.

_"No one could stand in your way…"_

_"You deserve it." _

_"You could leave, live the life they stole from you; the life you deserve. Don't let them do this. Don't let them abuse you anymore-"_

_"Make them pay for what they did to you."_

_"You earned it."_

_"Make them all pay."_

There was a knock at the door.

"Ellis?"

At the call of his name, Ellis whirled around on the spot, pale and shaking as sweat beaded along his hairline, his eyes wide with terror even as they fell upon the figure awkwardly paused at the door.

"J-Jowan!" he stammered out his friend's name in sheer relief as he moved back, wiping his hand across his brow and trying to act like absolutely nothing had happened and everything was perfectly fine. "I… uh, h-hey! Hi. What's up?"

Jowan didn't answer, at least not immediately. Instead, he quickly turned on the spot, leaning out of the doorway and frantically checking the hallways before shuffling back inside and closing the door behind him. Ellis watched the entire display, not sure what to make of any of it. If he'd thought Jowan had been acting a little paranoid this morning, it was nothing compared to how he was acting now.

"Can- can I talk to you?" Jowan asked a little meekly, leaning against the door – perhaps in an attempt to keep anyone else from coming in. _"Privately?"_

"…are we not in private now?" Ellis asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat down on the bed, folding his arms across his chest.

In front of him, Jowan pushed himself away from the door and began to pace, relentlessly, back and forth across the length of the room. For so long, that's all there was, nothing but the sound of Jowan's footsteps as he kept constantly on the move, from one wall to the other repeatedly. Ellis let out an exhausted sigh and pulled back on the bed, making sure he was far out of his friend's way.

Already, he felt his exasperation being twisted by the demon that lurked in the back of his mind into something far darker; a seething anger and resentment that seemed completely rational to him before he managed to catch it.

Quickly, he shoved it aside, wondering just how long he was going to have to deal with it. Forever, maybe. Time meant nothing a demon. It was just one of the many things they used to wear their prey down. A relentless assault, for days on end which turn into weeks which turn into months which eventually turn into _years._ The templars weren't wrong. Any mage, no matter how skilled or how experienced, could become an abomination. But that usually came at the end of a continued resistance, when the last scrap of energy was gone and all there was left to do was break.

He wondered if they knew. If they were aware just how much and how hard they were all fighting to keep their minds. He wondered if they cared.

_"They don't care."_

_"They'll never care."_

_"You have to make them care."_

_"Make them change."_

_"Make it all change."_

He pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate to ignore it as he returned his attention to Jowan, who was still pacing back and forth without ever stopping.

"Okay," Jowan muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair, while attempting to focus on breathing properly – not that it did him any favours. "Okay. I can do this. Sure I can. You- you know how I met a girl?"

"I know you _said_ you met a girl," Ellis quipped back at him a little tiredly, not wanting to give off any impression of his internal struggle. "I also know I told you that getting handsy with the chantry's statue of Andraste doesn't count as _meeting a girl."_

That earned him a poisonous look; but it did at the very least finally get Jowan to stop pacing for a moment.

Just for a moment.

"Is _that_ what this is?" he asked quietly, his eyes following his friend as the pacing quickly resumed. "Too much pent-up sexual frustration?"

"She's coming here."

Ellis blinked in surprise at the sudden and frank admission. "I- _what?"_

Jowan didn't look at him. "I told her to wait a couple of minutes so I could explain the situation to you."

"You _can't _be serious," Ellis managed to choke out through his shock. "What situation? Who is she? Jowan, you'd better tell me _something_ or I swear, I'm going to-"

He cut off at the sound of a polite knock at the door. Both boys froze dead, heads swivelling around to look at the door. After a moment of tense silence, Jowan gave Ellis and meaningful look before rushing over to the door, wrenching it open, and ushering someone inside.

Ellis didn't know what he expected. Another mage, probably. Some young impressionable apprentice girl who let Jowan copy off her notes during lectures, definitely.

What he actually saw, though?

"This… uh, Ellis, this is Lily."

"Er, yes. Hello. I've uh, I've seen you around before."

He barely heard Jowan's awkward introduction, or Lily's tentative greeting. He was too busy staring.

"An initiate," he said flatly, looking the young woman up and down several times and recoiling back slightly the instant he spotted the Chantry insignia decorating her robes. "Are you _kidding_ me? Do you have _any_ idea how _insane_ this is?!"

"Can you keep your _voice_ down?" Jowan demanded, glancing anxiously back to the door. "This is honestly _not_ the problem right now."

"Screwing around with an initiate seems like a pretty _big fucking problem,_ Jowan!"

Lily immediately shrank back behind Jowan at that point, as if she expected him to be able to protect her. Much to Ellis' surprise, Jowan moved further in front, consciously blocking her from his line of sight.

Ellis' face fell as he realised just what that meant.

Jowan was _smitten_ with the bloody girl. And given how she looked at _him,_ he wasn't alone in feeling that way. They were both such clueless idiots and so painfully in love with each other that Ellis thought he might throw up just by looking at them.

This was going to end badly.

This was going to end so, _so_ badly, and he couldn't bear to stand by and watch it all fall apart.

And he'd thought the awkward mess with Eisa and that damn templar who was so _clearly _in love with her even though she was _completely oblivious to it_ was a disaster waiting to happen. But even that wreck of a situation had nothing on this.

"We need your help," Jowan said, looking Ellis straight in the eyes, suddenly standing straight and acting the most confident he'd been in the entire time they'd known each other.

Ellis' lip curled. Did he blink and suddenly become the only sane person in the whole damn tower?

"Break up."

That caused both of them to reel back in shock.

Jowan glared at him the instant he recovered. _"Ellis!"_

"I'm _serious._ What you're doing breaks both Circle rules _and_ her vows. Nothing about this is subtle. _Everyone_ is going to find out, and who even knows what'll happen then. It's kinder in the long run if you end it now."

"C'mon Ellis," Jowan practically shouted at him now. "Just because _you've_ never cared about anyone-!"

_"Jowan,"_ Lily called softly, reaching out and gripping his arm with a meaningful look while Ellis automatically flinched back, almost as if the words had burned him.

There was something particularly hurtful about hearing that from one of the few people he dared to call a friend. Whether Jowan actually meant it or not, he couldn't tell. In that moment, he wasn't truly sure it even mattered.

Why did it get to him? He knew it wasn't true. He cared about people. He cared about _a lot_ of people! He couldn't be who and what he was – _whatever_ he was – without caring about people. They were all so intensely involved in each other's lives there hadn't been much other choice. They _had _ to care about each other; they had to care _deeply. _Jowan was wrong. He cared about people. There was Eisa and Joachim and Rhian and Eugene and Yeva and… and _Aneurin…_

He winced, the instant that name crossed his mind.

So _not_ important right now.

Before he could react, however – before he could even do as much as open his mouth to reply – Lily moved forwards, looking at Ellis with an imploring look.

"I know it's a lot to take in at once," she began, as Jowan fidgeted nervously in the background, "but there's more. A couple of days ago, I was in the Knight Commander's office, and-"

"They're going to make me Tranquil!" Jowan interrupted, practically leaning over her and waving his hands around wildly.

There was a stunned silence as Ellis pulled back slightly, eyes wide with surprise at this sudden and unceremonious revelation.

"What?" he asked after what felt like and possible could've been an absolute eternity, his voice strangely low and flat even as his mind reeled in shock. "C-come _on._ No they aren't. There's no reason to."

"There's a rumour going around about me," Jowan began breathlessly, glancing wildly around the room despite all of them knowing no one else was there, before dropping his voice to a low whisper. "People are saying that… that I'm a _blood mage."_

There was yet another tense pause as this information sank in. And then, without warning, Ellis burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter, causing both Jowan and Lily to jump violently.

"Oh, that's _good," _he gasped out, chuckling all the while – at both what he'd been told _and_ Jowan's scandalised expression. "That's _brilliant! _You? A blood mage? _You? _I'm sorry, but who in their _right mind_ would actually _believe_ that?"

"Ellis-"

"Quick! Run for the hills! Jowan's going to sacrifice your children to demons!" he called out, his expression twisted into one of mock-horror even as he continued laughing. "Oh. Oh, _Maker._ You really had me for a second."

He kept laughing, even as the silence in the room became almost overpowering. Dread crawled into the back of his mind, but he kept laughing anyway, because this situation couldn't be real, it was too absurd. Nothing about it made sense, because it was a joke. Right? Yes. It had to be. There wasn't anything else it _could_ be.

But the longer Jowan and Lily watched him in silence, both of them with the same, identical expression of absolute agony, the less he was sure.

"You're… not kidding," he realised eventually, the laughter very quickly dying away.

"I found a document authorising use of the Rite on Jowan," Lily whispered, doing nothing to contain the horror in her tone. "Both the Knight-Commander _and _First Enchanter Irving had signed it."

_…no,_ he thought. _No, no, no._

This couldn't be happening.

This couldn't be _real._

An unjustified use of the Rite of Tranquillity? On an _apprentice? _Greagoir might've been paranoid enough to jump to conclusions, but Irving wouldn't- he wouldn't _stand_ for it. That wasn't the First Enchanter he knew. It wasn't the Irving who had patiently taught both him and Eisa everything they knew about magic, who had constantly doted over Eisa and lavished praise upon her for her natural talent, who had been so kind and so understanding and only looked on in polite exasperation every time Ellis decided he could disregard the rules.

It wasn't Irving.

It wasn't the kind of thing Irving would do.

"That's why you're so…" Ellis managed with a distant whisper, before smacking his palm to his forehead and letting out an exasperated groan as the revelation hit him. "The _Harrowing._ They haven't called you for it, because they're not _going_ to. I'm such an _idiot."_

He had to ask. He had to confront Irving. He had to know, had to find out _why._ No one cared more about the welfare of apprentices than the First Enchanter, and the fact that he would do this made _no_ sense.

_Not unless Jowan is actually a blood mage,_ a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

He immediately shoved that thought aside.

"I'll talk to Irving," he murmured, not sure what else to say.

"No!" Jowan practically screamed at him. "Ellis, you _can't!"_

"Irving already signed off on the Rite," Lily pointed out. "He won't believe us if we try to convince him otherwise. Talking to him now will only alert him of what we're up to. We can't risk it."

"You're not _serious,_ are you?" Ellis demanded. "Irving isn't-"

_"Promise me,_ Ellis," Jowan interrupted him, reaching out and gripping his upper arm tightly, his eyes wide and pleading. "Promise me you won't tell anyone. Ellis, _please."_

For much too long, Ellis simply stared back at his friend, eyes wide with horror and confusion as he found completely at a loss of what to do. This – the whole situation, everything about it in general – was completely insane.

Slowly, stiffly, he nodded, even as his stomach churned and every fibre in his being was screaming at him that he was being an idiot, that he couldn't – and _shouldn't_ – be going along with this, that talking to Irving and trying to sort the whole mess out that way was the best thing to do.

But instead, he found himself nodding, silently giving Jowan the promise he asked for.

"So what are you going to do?" he managed to choke out finally, forcing the acid that had welled up in his throat back down.

Jowan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and retreated a few steps. "We need to leave – me and Lily. We need to get out of here and go somewhere the templars won't ever find us."

"Good luck with that. They still have your phylactery."

He simply nodded in response. "I know. That's why we need to destroy it first."

_"Destroy_ your- …you mean want to break into the repository?" Ellis demanded, not quite sure if he had heard any of that correctly. "That sounds like the _worst_ plan."

"It's the only one we've got," Jowan pointed out, reaching up and raking his fingers through his hair. "But first, I need to know you'll help. I need to know if you're in."

Ellis glanced up, his expression pained as he looked between his friend – his best friend, possibly his _only_ friend – and the girl he loved, still not quite able to wrap his head around what was actually happening.

"Yeah," he sighed after far too long. "Yeah, Jowan. I'm in."


	4. The Exile

Yeva Aeducan's knuckles whitened as her hands balled into tight, unyielding fists the instant she saw a man – a mostly naked warrior swaying uncontrollably from side to side, a half-emptied tankard of ale slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground – shuffle his way into the arena, blindly gesturing at the crowd and loudly asking why another wore his armour.

She looked down quickly, letting loose a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose; unable to bring herself to watch the unfolding disaster. Even then, she could do nothing to block out the rising outrage of the crowd, and the Proving Master frantically shouting beside her that the apparent imposter remove his helmet. There was nothing to help shield herself from the part of her that was down there, breathing hard from both exertion and a rising panic, trying frantically to find some way – find _any_ way – to get out of the situation unscathed.

There was no way out. She knew that. Part of Joachim seemed to know it too, because after a brief, tense moment, he stopped fighting. And all Yeva could do was watch on helplessly as he removed his helm with shaking hands and the entire arena burst into a furious uproar the instant his branded face was revealed.

She slumped in her seat then, silent and motionless as the situation deteriorated; as outraged shouts filled the air and the crowd began to rumble with what seemed like the beginnings of a riot, even as Joachim was seized by guards and dragged out of the arena. She did not react as the doors leading out onto the viewing platform were sealed, presumably to protect her from being caught up in any subsequent violence. She closed her eyes and tried to focus simply on breathing as Gorim hovered protectively over her, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sheathed sword.

She had just wanted this day to go well, for the Proving to continue smoothly. She _needed_ it to go well. She had so much riding on this, both personally and politically. She should have known such things were too much to hope for. She should have farewelled that dream the moment she noticed Joachim's presence in the Proving Grounds. She should have known. She should have stopped it. But she didn't, and now she was going to pay for this mistake in every way imaginable.

Already, she could feel the dull pain of a headache coming on.

For so long, she didn't move, content to remain there forever in the vain hope that all of her vast multitude of problems would miraculously solve themselves. She didn't want to consider anything else; not what this meant, or what she planned to do about it.

She couldn't let Joachim die, that much was obvious. But she couldn't simply pardon such an egregious crime, either. The Assembly would fight her every step of the way, and she'd end up alienating every ally she had just for attempting to do such a thing. Years of careful political manoeuvring, of building up goodwill, as establishing herself as a viable member of her house, and Joachim had thrown it all away with one act of idiotic greed.

He would owe her for this. He would owe her _forever._

"Gorim," she called her second's name quietly.

Immediately, he stood to attention, ready to receive her command. Ready to act on those commands, without question. Sometimes, Yeva found herself wondering what inspired such fanatical loyalty. She wondered if she had done anything to truly deserve it, on her own merits, rather than her father's.

"The casteless was not working alone," she said as she rose from her seat, acting as if this was a new revelation to her, like she hadn't been there with Joachim the entire time. "Someone helped him infiltrate the grounds. Someone with pull and influence and so much to be gained that the risk was deemed acceptable."

Gorim nodded. "You suspect the Carta, my lady?"

"I see few other explanations," she replied, her expression quickly hardening. "This outrage cannot be tolerated. The Carta must learn that they have overstepped their bounds. I want proof of their involvement. And when you have it, I want them _all_ eliminated, you understand?"

Gorim winced slightly. "The Carta make up at least half of Dust Town. It will be no simple task."

Of course it wouldn't. But she didn't have any other options.

"Neither will this, I expect," she sighed, brushing a couple of stray strands of hair that had fallen from her braid out of her face. "The imposter casteless, I want him brought to me."

Gorim's expression shifted from pained to outright shocked in just a fraction of a second; his eyes going wide and his lips parting ever so slightly as he struggled to wrap his mind around what he'd just been told.

"This matter takes precedence over all others, Gorim," she insisted when he said nothing. "I want him found and brought to me. _Alive."_

"Your Highness," Gorim finally choked out, "the entire city is calling for his head. That may not be possible."

"Is it not my right?" she demanded. "This Proving was thrown in _my_ honour. His slight was against_ me,_ Gorim, and me _alone._ So I will be the one to dispense justice."

"The Assembly may not agree."

"The _Assembly_ will know that they cannot fight me on this," she retorted. "A public execution will allow him more notoriety, and that will not stand. No one will learn his name. He will remain unknown, like all casteless. The Ancestors forgot him, and so should we."

She would figure out the rest later.

_"I_ will deal with this insult, Gorim," she said, reinforcing her point with a glare. _"No one_ else."

She could see the man wilt slightly under her gaze before he dipped his head in a curt nod and eventually turned back towards the doors, disappearing through them when the guards relented. They would for him, seeing as he was obeying a direct order from her. She had the feeling she wouldn't find it so easy.

Yeva's jaw clenched at the thought, but she said nothing. Someone, somewhere, long ago, once told her – or perhaps one of the others, she couldn't quite remember – that it was important to pick her battles. This wasn't something worth arguing. Not right now, anyway. She would wait and see how long it took before her patience ran out completely.

Instead, she sank back down, focusing on the things around her, the things she could feel, things that would help ground her in her own reality for a little while. The unyielding stone of the seat. The weight of her armour, carefully distributed evenly across her body. The feeling of her hair in its tight braid, pulling at her scalp. Just little things. Little, vitally important things that were all that stood between her and completely losing her grip on her own sanity.

So she sat, and waited for as long as she could stand, staring aimlessly ahead in steely silence for the guards to regain control, for the crowd to calm and eventually disperse, for the lockdown to run its course. She didn't move in what felt like the several hours it took for that to happen, ignoring the entourage that had escorted her here in the first place, all of which had leapt to take their place at her side the instant she'd sent her trusted second away. She must have always have a guard at her side, after all. Given the anxiety that seemed to roll off all of them in waves, her father must have stressed that to them. Repeatedly.

It was normal. Expected. But that didn't make it any less irritating.

At this point, Yeva was in such a sour mood that she truly wasn't sure anything would fail to irritate her.

_Idiot,_ she found herself silently growling to no one in particular. _Of course this was going to happen. What were you thinking?_

Word must have reached the palace by now. Her father must know, and had the feast delayed.

Heat rose to her cheeks as she realised that she should've listened to Trian, and remained at the king's side. Instead, she'd run off with her entourage to the Proving, believing that a public appearance would foster goodwill with the people. And maybe it would've, if Joachim hadn't turned it into a disaster. Now, she was stuck with a political mire she'd be cleaning up for weeks, and the bitter knowledge that her older brother would hold this over her as proof of her incompetence for as long as they both lived.

She should've competed. She should've been out there in the grounds, where she could've better controlled the situation. She should've had Joachim immediately arrested and exiled, for his own safety. She shouldn't have tried to go along with any of this insanity.

Bad consequences of her own bad judgement, and soon, everyone would know.

Yeva's lip curled at the thought. It was starting to seem like she would be dealing with the political fallout from this _forever._

Finally, she found she could no longer stand it. In an instant, she was up on her feet and striding towards the door with her head held high – a show of false confidence she had been practising her entire life.

"I'm leaving," she barked out aggressively, barely taking any note of the terrified expressions on each and every one of her own guards; all of them suddenly torn between obeying her orders and keeping her safe.

The instant the words were out of her mouth, the Proving Master was practically falling over himself in some desperate attempt to stop her.

"But Your- Your Highness!" he spluttered uselessly. "The crowd – the possibility of a riot, it- it's not safe."

It took all her self-control not to roll her eyes at that.

Honestly. What use _were_ the city guards if they couldn't keep something as simple as this under control? The Proving Grounds had seen a thousand riots before this day, and would see a thousand more afterward. So why had everyone chosen _today_ to be utterly _incompetent,_ in just about every way that mattered?

"A situation I trust you have handled," Yeva bit back, her voice low and her tone icy. "I've indulged your paranoia long enough. I will wait no longer."

"Your Highness, with all respect, I _cannot_ allow you to leave while your life may be in danger!"

Her expression hardened. _"Allow_ me?"

The Proving Master recoiled from her almost the exact moment he realised his mistake. She leaned in towards him, invading his personal space, carefully making sure to make her unspoken message as clear as possible.

"There are _far_ more important things to occupy you other than my supposed _safety,_ Proving Master," she snarled, letting the sheer hostility roll off her in waves. _"Pray_ that I forget this."

There was a tense silence as she slowly pulled back, fighting a smile as she watched the man cower in fear before her. Sometimes, she forgot what having power actually felt like. It was nice to have that reminder. Nice to know that in some situations, she was far from helpless. That sometimes, she had control. She wasn't always doomed to be the victim in such plays.

"I'm taking my leave," she barked out as she approached her guards, who were already readying themselves to escort her back to the Diamond Quarter.

A couple of curt nods were made in response, and the doors were immediately opened to her. As expected. They couldn't possibly keep her anywhere against her will, and they knew it.

The guards all fell into step around her, of course, all of them tense, all of them with their hands hovering over their weapons, ready to draw at any moment. Yeva paid little attention to them, if she paid any at all, still too wrapped up in her own thoughts and plans and how on earth she was going to handle this.

Joachim would go to the surface. There wasn't anywhere else he could go. The problem was getting him there.

Eugene would know. He would have ideas. He'd know how to help her wrangle the system to obey her commands. It was exactly the kind of thing the human was supposedly an expert in.

She gritted her teeth at the thought of turning to the others – _any_ of them – for help.

She didn't need them.

She _never_ needed them.

She was fine on her own, perfectly able to deal with whatever came her way. There was nothing they could give her that she either didn't need or didn't already have. She wouldn't rely on them. She _couldn't_ rely on them, for _anything._ They all seemed to act like they were special, that they all helped each other, that they were all an invaluable presence in each other's lives purely because of something none of them understood. Yeva wouldn't be fooled. She knew who she was, and she didn't need six strangers to help her live her own life; regardless of any connection they shared.

After today? She'd make sure Joachim was out of Orzammar and out of her hair. Then she would never have to deal with him – with _any_ of them – ever again.

And then, _finally,_ she'd be alone.

Briefly, she wondered what that really felt like.

Her guards did not relax; not in the Commons, not even in the clean, bright, wide streets of the Diamond Quarter where people rushed to clear the way for her, out of simple respect. Yeva kept her head high and her eyes firmly on what lay ahead, positive that anything less would only be seen as weakness. She could not afford weakness in her position, not even the appearance of it.

So she kept walking, through the warmly lit streets of the Diamond Quarter, straight past the various amassed merchants vying for her attention, past the criers who shouted news of the disastrous Proving, only to immediately lower their voices in shame and fear as they spotted her.

Oh yes. Her father had definitely heard. She tried her best to ignore the cold sense of dread that filled her as she entered the Royal Palace, quickly breaking with her guards and veering left towards the living quarters.

"My lady!" she heard one of them call after her confusedly. "Should you not proceed to the feast?"

She absently waved the man off, not even bothering to look back at him, or even reply as she disappeared through the door to the palace's west wing. She was already terribly late, surely her father could wait a few minutes more. There were far more pressing matters to deal with, regardless.

It was all she could do, really, to make her way to Bhelen's quarters in the hope he was still there.

She paused for a moment at the door, quickly and warily glancing each way, carefully cataloguing the position of every guard and servant still in the hall. When she was confident she wasn't being watched or followed, she pushed open Bhelen's bedroom door and marched inside with all the authority she had as an older sibling.

He wouldn't appreciate it, she knew that. But Yeva was beyond the point of caring.

"Bhelen!" she barked out, almost running headlong into someone else – someone who was decidedly _not_ her brother. "Bhelen, I-"

She cut off then, only just managing to stop short of knocking the other person over.

"M-my lady Aeducan!" the woman – a shapely young thing with a shock of auburn hair Yeva immediately recognised as Rica Brosca – all but screamed, leaping back a few feet, her expression twisting to one of absolute terror. "I- I am _so_ sorry my lady, I was- …please forgive me."

For so long, Yeva simply stared at her, lips parted slightly as she found herself completely at a loss of what to say. Part of her – some wretched little corner of her mind that was more someone else than part of her – was overjoyed at seeing Rica there, safe and so far out of harm's way, even as it was shocked to find her here in Bhelen's chambers.

She brushed that part of her aside. She had known about Bhelen's entanglements with the casteless girl for weeks. It was why she came here in the first place. It was not _her_ fault Joachim hadn't been partial to that information.

And still, Rica's presence here shocked her.

"You are not my brother," Yeva observed slowly.

That much was so painfully obvious, and yet, it was all she could say.

Rica all but cowered before her, careful to keep her head and eyes down.

"When you came in I thought- …I'm sorry, it was presumptuous of me to think he might…" she trailed off briefly into silence, shifting from side to side and swallowing nervously. "I am _so _sorry. With your leave, Your Highness, I will go."

"No."

Rica blinked several times, completely taken aback by Yeva's unexpected words, though she did her best to hide it.

Part of Yeva couldn't help but admire her in some way, given just how well she managed to conceal her feelings and maintain her composure in spite of the fear and stress coursing through her.

"No," she repeated bluntly, deciding then and there not to think any more of it. "You do _not_ have my permission to leave."

It was evidently not the expected response, as Rica clasped her hands together tightly in an effort to conceal the growing stress of the situation; desperate to leave and now unable to. Yeva noticed her glancing almost longingly to the door and quickly manoeuvred herself so she was blocking it.

"Listen to me _very carefully,"_ she said, framing those final words in order to ensure she was not misunderstood. "Your brother was caught infiltrating a Proving. The authorities will leave you and your mother alone, but the Carta will not. You cannot return to your home. You _must_ seek out Bhelen's protection, immediately."

That was met with shocked silence as the two young women stared absently at each other, neither knowing what to make of the other.

"I will save Joachim," Yeva hissed as she anxiously glanced around the room, searching for someone, _anyone,_ who could be listening in – as Rica's eyes widened in shock. "I _promise_ you. But the entire city is in an uproar, calling for his head. There is a good chance you will never see him again."

With any luck, _she_ would never have to see him again, either.

"Stay here," she ordered finally, as Rica once again failed to respond in any meaningful way. "The palace is likely the only place in Orzammar where you will be safe. I will try to find Bhelen and inform him of what has happened, but if he comes here before I do, you must explain the situation. You can tell him of my involvement, if you wish, but _only_ him. Do _not_ trust anyone else."

She turned back to the door then, in an effort to make as swift an exit as possible. She did not want to linger here any longer than absolutely necessary, and she had done what she'd set out to do. Rica was successfully warned and she just had to-

"W-wait!" Rica called out abruptly, causing Yeva to stop dead in her tracks, her fingers hovering over the door handle. "How- how do you know my brother? Why are you helping him?"

Yeva turned her head, just enough to see the other woman in her peripheral vision. Just about every fibre in her being screamed at her to lie, to deny knowing him at all, to make up some other reason why she was doing any of it.

Why was she doing this?

Political reasons.

She didn't want to deal with Bhelen's inevitable tantrum should his favourite plaything end up harmed or dead.

Boredom.

Anything, really.

"We were friends once," she answered quietly, somewhat surprised at her own honesty in that moment. "Perhaps that still means something to me."

It all seemed so long ago, now.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Yeva let out a quiet sigh and pushed the door open, quickly disappearing through it, stepping back out into the hallway; suddenly overcome with a strange feeling of emptiness.

She hated that. Hated that feeling, the sense that she was missing some deep and fundamental part of her being. Why must she be punished for the crime of trying to live her own life, free of influence from outside parties? Why must she suffer for trying to avoid something she'd never wanted?

Except, she _had_ wanted it, once upon a time. It had helped her cope, once upon a time.

So much had changed since then. She'd grown up, for one thing. They all had. Everyone had started pulling away to some degree, but all that fighting to get away and be their own people had only brought them closer. They were all so involved, so entangled in each other's lives, it was impossible to know where one ended and another began. For the first time in something like fifteen years, the reality of what they were had finally begun to dawn on them. Most of them had accepted it. Yeva had not. She would not. _Could_ not. Because if she was being honest with herself, it terrified her. More than anything.

What seemed so perfect for seven lonely children had warped into a nightmare for the adults they were becoming.

"Yeva!"

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose then, letting out a long, exhausted sigh at the call of her name, and the heavy footsteps that followed it. For a moment, she remained like that, silently praying to the ancestors that she was hearing things, begging no one that she wouldn't have to deal with this today.

When she finally straightened and opened her eyes, she found that she was afforded no such luck.

"Trian," she greeted stiffly as she immediately cast her eyes to the floor rather than meet his gaze, her posture quickly becoming rigid.

Her elder brother stood tall then, his lips curved into a small, amused smile. And immediately, Yeva knew she had made a terrible mistake. Trian smelled blood; she could tell. Her fear had already betrayed her.

Behind him, Bhelen shifted uncomfortably, casting a worried and apologetic look at Yeva from over Trian's shoulder.

"Yeva," he called, moving forwards until he was standing at their brother's side. "I wasn't expecting to see you here so soon. Father had the feast delayed, when we heard about-"

"Dear sister, only _you_ would allow a _casteless_ to dishonour you so," Trian cut in harshly, all but pushing Bhelen aside.

Yeva exhaled softly and squared her shoulders, fighting desperately to keep any semblance of composure, still unable to look up from the floor.

"It's being handled," she said stiffly, her posture rigid and her tone screaming of a forced calm.

Always, it was the same thing. Always, Trian would seek her out, find whatever mistakes she had made no matter how small or trivial, and tear her apart over it. She had to be poised. She had to be composed. She had to be unflappable and steadfast and strong. She had to be perfect, under any and all circumstances. Her brother wouldn't accept anything less. And after so long of having his expectations drilled into her, _she_ wouldn't accept anything less.

Joachim had done more than cheat the Proving – a crime for which much of Orzammar was calling for his head. He'd shown Trian beyond any reasonable doubt that Yeva could not be trusted to handle any kind of responsibility.

She was stupid. She was an idiot. She was a disgrace. She was an oblivious fool who could not complete the simplest of tasks and did not deserve any of what she had. And now her father would know just how misplaced his trust in her was, the day he was to have her assume the role of Commander.

She found herself chewing her bottom lip anxiously as those thoughts swirled around her mind, confirming everything she'd been told her entire life.

_"Clearly,"_ Trian drawled. "You've shown all of Orzammar the true depths of your ineptitude. And because of that, at least, the day wasn't an entire waste."

"The Carta managed to infiltrate the arena and were using the casteless fighter to influence the outcome of certain bouts," she insisted feebly, in some vain attempt to explain herself. "I'm looking into it."

"The Carta infiltrated the Proving because you _allowed_ them to," he corrected her, before shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I've come to expect this level of sheer incompetence from you."

He moved forwards then, his hand reaching up until his fingers brushed against Yeva's jawline. She shivered as he gripped her chin, the cold metal of his gauntlets biting into her skin, forcing her head up until she had no choice but to look him in the eye.

It took all her self-control not to whimper then, like a small child.

"No hiding it now," he mused, mostly to himself, as Yeva winced in his grasp. "All of Orzammar knows you to be nothing but useless breeding flesh, unfit for command."

_"Trian,"_ Bhelen called out sharply, his hand gripping their brother's forearm and pulling him back, away from Yeva, freeing her. "That's _enough!"_

"You'll keep your hands off your king, Bhelen!" Trian all but screamed in his face, wrenching himself away as Yeva staggered back, clutching her cheek.

Bhelen didn't so much as flinch. "You're not king yet, _dear_ brother."

The echoing of Trian's prior words and his scathing tone were not an accident, Yeva could tell that immediately. Bhelen's jab was sharp and precise, timed perfectly and aimed at the weakest point of Trian's ego. Her little brother always had a certain way with words. She was sure that he and Eugene would get along swimmingly, in the unlikely scenario that they ever actually met.

But despite Bhelen coming to her rescue, Yeva couldn't help but feel her cheeks burning with shame as she realised that Trian was right – that she _had_ allowed the Carta to infiltrate the Proving Arena. She'd known exactly what Joachim was doing, had ample opportunity to call the guards and have him immediately arrested, and… didn't. She'd embarrassed herself and sullied her family's name, all for… what? The sake of some Carta brand from the deepest pits of Dust Town? To save a life that should mean _nothing_ to her?

What kind of princess was she, when she placed the life of a criminal so far above the honour of her people and her city?

"I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Bhelen," Trian growled, doing nothing to hide the sheer _aggression_ in his voice, bringing Yeva sharply back into reality.

Immediately, Bhelen pulled back, holding his hands up in a show of innocence. "My tone? Whatever do you mean? I thought I was simply stating fact."

"You _are_ insolent, aren't you? When I am king, I will help you get over that."

Rather than shrink back like Yeva half-expected him to, Bhelen simply folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, looking on incredulously.

"I look forward to it," he said simply, always keeping the slightest sarcastic edge in his voice. "Long may you reign, Trian."

For a moment, Yeva leaned back, terrified of how Trian might react. Bhelen stood his ground, his expression hard, apparently hoping that sheer confidence would allow either of them to escape the situation unscathed. Yeva didn't dare to have such hopes, and was already bracing herself.

A moment passed.

Then two.

And then, _finally;_

"Best be careful, the both of you," Trian growled out after what seemed like an eternity, moving around the two of them and heading off down the hall, towards the throne room. "Father will not live forever."

There was nothing but silence as he stalked off, not even reacting as Bhelen, despite being his second, chose to remain behind with Yeva. Such a wilful abandonment of his post would've earned him harsh punishments had he been just about anyone else; but Bhelen was still a prince of Orzammar. He'd long ago realised that he could get away with what others could not.

Yeva found herself desperately wishing that she possessed even half her younger brother's confidence.

"Orzammar is doomed if he ever gets his arrogant, entitled ass on the throne," Bhelen muttered, still staring idly off in the direction Trian had disappeared.

Yeva didn't answer, too busy studying the wall in an effort to ignore the intense heat that had risen to her cheeks. She felt… she didn't know how she felt. Vulnerable and pathetic and utterly humiliated. There was a deep weight in her stomach and her breath stuck in her throat and all she could think about was how Trian was right, how she was useless and weak and a disgrace to her house and all of Orzammar.

"Are you okay?"

Her head snapped up at Bhelen's question, her eyes flicking up to meet her little brother's. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and for a moment, the corners of her lips twitched with a grateful smile before she pulled away.

"Don't involve yourself," she said, anxious to forget about it all and return to her usual posture. "It's none of your concern."

"Of course it is," he argued. "Yeva, you can't pretend it's fine. We've all seen how he treats you."

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion?" she snapped back, defensive and hostile.

"I can't help but worry for you."

Yeva's jaw clenched at that.

"Bhelen," she hissed his name with more aggression than she'd thought herself capable in that moment, "if you hold any value in your life, you will _keep out_ of mine."

For a moment, neither of them spoke as Yeva glared and Bhelen simply stood there, his expression going from concerned to resigned in a matter of seconds.

Well, this conversation was going spectacularly.

"Nevermind," she murmured with a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying her best to relax despite not really knowing how. "Bhelen, I need to talk to you."

"And I you, sister," he replied, a little more coldly than before. "Though I'd wager my news is a little more pressing."

"I very much doubt that."

"It may be a matter of life and death."

"The casteless who infiltrated the Proving did so on behalf of the Carta," she said bluntly, unwilling to continue the back and forth any longer than necessary. "He's also Rica's brother. She's in danger."

Bhelen didn't even blink. "And so are you."

There it was; the words she knew had been inevitable. The famously brutal politics of Orzammar were about to involve something terrible, and she had been caught hopelessly in the middle.

She sighed. "Speak then, if it's so important."

"There's been talk," he began, a little dramatically, "amongst the deshyrs."

Yeva's eyes narrowed. "You say that as if there isn't _always_ talk amongst the deshyrs."

He nodded. "That's true, but this particular talk happens to directly concern you."

"Bhelen, is there a point to this?"

"Trian is losing support," he told her, apparently then deciding to get to the point. "The Assembly is beginning to see him for what he is, and many are looking elsewhere for a successor to the throne."

"And their first thought is to turn to the second-born," Yeva summed up quietly, part of her having already anticipated this. Beraht had told Joachim that much earlier that morning.

_Trian's got all the tact of a rampaging blind bronto, I'd wager at least half the Assembly sees that._

He hadn't been wrong.

But oh, she so did _not_ want to deal with this right now. She didn't have the energy, and there were other things that she needed to focus on. Other things that would have far worse, far more direct consequences for her if not dealt with quickly and quietly.

Briefly, she wondered where Gorim was, and when she could expect him back for a report on his progress.

One way or another, the Carta had to die. All of them, even if she had to storm Dust Town herself. She would accept nothing less.

"Trian _will_ move against you," Bhelen said, drawing her back to the conversation. "He'll try to kill you."

"Obviously."

"I can't tell you any more than that," Bhelen murmured, leaning in now. "But promise me you'll be careful. I wouldn't want to lose the one sibling I actually _like."_

Yeva opened her mouth to reply, but found herself cut off from a shout before she could get a single word out.

"My lady!"

Immediately, both siblings turned, just in time to Gorim practically charging towards them.

"We can speak more at the feast," Bhelen said with perfect composure, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he moved away. "Take care, sister."

"You as well, Bhelen," she replied softly, squaring her shoulders in an effort not to give any onlookers an idea of what their discussion had been about, before turning to Gorim, who was stooped in a deep bow before her. "You have something to report?"

He straightened, and Yeva's heart sank as she realised how stressed and frantic he looked.

This couldn't mean anything good.

"It seems your hunch was correct," he told her, speaking at a mildly faster pace than normal. "The casteless imposter has seemingly disappeared from official custody. When I pressed for answers, I was stonewalled. It appears the Carta infiltrated the city guard and moved him elsewhere."

"Did you find any leads on where they might have taken him?"

"Only false trails, my lady," Gorim replied apologetically.

There was a moment as Yeva took this news in without so much as batting an eyelash. She simply stared blankly, Gorim's words echoing around her mind as she struggled to take them in.

And then, without any real warning, she let out a harsh growl and whirled around, her fist slamming into the wall with a surprising and somewhat intimidating show of force.

_"Dammit,"_ she snarled to no one in particular, not reacting as a jarring pain shot up her arm from the sheer force of the blow.

Automatically, she found herself frantically reaching out with her mind, trying to get some sense of Joachim, of his possible whereabouts. Instead, her efforts were rewarded with nothing; no response, no feeling, no feedback of any kind. All that told her was that he was unconscious, and therefore far beyond her reach.

Not dead, at least. She would have felt it if he had been injured, much less killed. They all would've.

_Casteless idiot,_ she thought viciously in his direction, despite knowing that he could not hear her. _Where are you?_

She should call the others. As long as Joachim was in direct mortal peril, this affected all of them, and she wasn't sure she was able to handle it alone. The sensible thing to do would be to swallow her pride and ask for help.

She hated that.

She hated this.

She hated all of it.

Finally, she pulled back, away from the wall, turning back to Gorim who was looking on with shock and horror at her outburst. Yeva simply rolled her shoulders back and tried to focus on breathing above all else.

"To the feast, then," she sighed, quickly collecting herself as she set off towards the throne room. "Come, Gorim. There are matters I must discuss with you before tomorrow's expedition."

With a silent nod, her second quickly fell into step beside her as she was still entirely focused on calming herself. It had been so long since she'd tried to contact everyone simultaneously, but she didn't think it would be this hard to get an answer. From _anyone._

Was she just bad at this, or were they not responding to her? Where were they all? Why was it that she could spend her entire life trying to push them away and it was only when she needed them did they actually leave her alone?

"To the Void with it," she hissed angrily to herself when the silence in her mind continued.

"My lady?" Gorim asked quietly from his place beside her, clearly worried. More so than usual.

"It's nothing, Gorim," she waved him off carelessly. "Nothing at all."


	5. The Wedding, Part II

Rhian woke to a dreary, incomprehensible haze as her eyes struggled to focus on anything and all she could really hear was a dull ringing in her ears. Unthinkingly, she pressed herself against the cold, hard stone floor; choking back the almost overwhelming urge to cough as dust filled her lungs, only to stutter out a few shallow, gasping breaths. Frightened voices whispered from somewhere above her, and though she couldn't make out the words, she could feel the fear and confusion that seemed to seep into the very air itself. She winced, unable to decide if that was better or worse to focus on instead of the burning pain in her lungs, the river of dried blood plastered to the side of her face, or the dawning horror of the situation.

She didn't know where she was.

The hard stone beneath her seemed real, but something told her that it was… wrong, that she was somewhere else, in some other place, doing some other thing. There was so much input from everywhere and it was becoming impossible to tell what was actually there, what she was actually experiencing, and what was actually real.

It felt like a dream.

It felt like a _nightmare._

The world spun sickeningly and her heart thumped relentlessly in her chest and her head felt light and she couldn't get up, she couldn't move, she could barely even _breathe-_

Voices were arguing and someone was chanting while someone else was crying and she could hear laughter and screaming and whispers and desperate, frantic prayers and-

She didn't know where she was.

Where was she?

In that moment, she could've been anywhere.

"Maker keep us," someone chanted incessantly. "Maker protect us, Maker keep us, Maker protect-"

"Stop. _Please,"_ a voice – another voice, distant and close and familiar and unknown, from above her and beside her and a thousand miles away – groaned. "You're giving me a _headache."_

"Leave her be, Shianni. It helps her feel safe."

"Safe?_ Safe?_ Are you _kidding_ me? The _last_ thing we are right now is _safe! _We need to come up with a _plan."_

_"Plans_ can wait! Look at Rhian! You don't _honestly_ think we're getting out of here with her in this state?"

"We'll work it out! Look, Valora, I get that you're new here, but we need to get out as fast as we can. If you knew _anything_ about what Vaughan does to people, you'd agree."

"So, what? You want us to _fight_ our way out? Did you forget that we're a group of unarmed, untrained elven women going against what'll probably be an entire garrison of guards? Did you forget that one of us is _unconscious?"_

"Rhian's trained."

"Rhian's _unconscious._ And in no condition to fight regardless."

"Well, what do _you_ suggest? Sit tight and let Vaughan and his goons have their way with us?"

"I suggest we do something a little smarter than outright _suicide!"_

"Letting them take us _is_ suicide!"

A deathly silence filled the room then, punctured only by fervent chanting.

"Maker keep us, Maker protect us…"

Someone's palm smacked against their forehead. "Ugh, now _this_ again."

_"Shianni-"_

"What? She has her annoying thing that makes her feel better, maybe being annoyed at it is mine."

Rhian squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to ignore it as best she could – at least then she didn't have to get involved. Didn't have to claw her way through the thick mental fog that had come over her. She didn't want to think about it, or acknowledge it, even for a second. Anything else hurt too much.

She didn't know where she was.

In that moment, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know.

_You're going to die here,_ a snide voice from some dark and forgotten corner of her mind whispered. _You could've fought. You could've gotten away, but you didn't. And now you're going to die here. Just like your mother._

She shifted just slightly, gritting her teeth as the stinging pain in her head immediately grew worse. Wincing, she gingerly reached up to touch the wound, only now noticing just how much partially dried blood was caked to the side of her face and matted into her hair.

It seemed like far too much, for such a relatively small wound.

She didn't remember getting it.

Slowly, silently, she began to push herself up off the floor, even as she accidentally inhaled another cloud of dust. She had to get up. She had to help, had to _do_ something. Even if she had no idea how much help she would be when she could barely think clearly. Somewhere, off to the side, she thought, the voices continued to argue, too absorbed in the conversation to notice her. Rhian didn't mind; it gave her more time to think, to consider what she was going to do.

Except, she had no _idea_ what to do.

Tears sprang into her eyes then, welling up until they began to slide endlessly down her cheeks despite all her fighting to keep any semblance of composure. She was going to die here. Part of her seemed to recognise that, while the rest of her was still fumbling around blindly in a barely coherent haze.

Acid bubbled up in her throat and was already dribbling down her chin before Rhian could do anything to stop it. Instead, she simply heaved, coughing and gasping as vomit splattered on the floor while her stomach churned and a fresh wave of nausea crashed over her.

"Rhian!" she heard voices – the same voices, the ones from before – gasp out her name, quickly followed by frantic footsteps as hands grasped at her. "You're awake! Are you okay?"

_"Are you alright?"_ someone else asked, from across an endless distance. _"You gave us all quite the scare. What happened?"_

It was a familiar voice, she thought. The kind of familiar that made her feel safe. Her brother had always made her feel safe.

She stopped, her eyes narrowing as that thought crossed her mind.

Her brother?

Did she even _have_ a brother?

No, not her. Someone else, someone she knew, someone close. _They_ had a brother.

She felt someone roll out of bed, heard a voice she knew but couldn't place respond rapidly, without really pausing for breath as the words slurred into each other. She felt hands on shoulders, forcing them to a stop as pain shot through muscles.

_"Hey, take it easy!"_ the voice of the brother called, his voice frantic with real, genuine concern.

"Rhian, look at me."

_"Look at me."_

Slowly, with far more effort than it should've taken, Rhian shifted her gaze up, her eyes meeting Shianni's. Something vague and distant seemed to click in her mind the instant she recognised her cousin, like her presence here explained something, answered some burning question, but she couldn't quite tell what it was.

_"Eugene, look at me."_

Where _was_ she?

More importantly, _who_ was she?

"I need you to focus," the woman in front of her – _Shianni,_ she reinforced to herself – said softly. "Rhian, I need you to think. Do you know where you are? How you got here?"

Rhian blinked several times, staring idly ahead and not really seeing anything. For what felt like an absolute eternity, she simply remained there, saying nothing, the question echoing around her mind without ever being answered. Nothing seemed to quite register, leaving her only with shocked silence.

_"What's going on with you?"_

A door slammed closed.

_"Eugene!"_

She was losing her mind, if she hadn't lost it already. If there was anything left to lose.

"Shi- …Shianni…?" she closed her eyes as the words became almost too difficult to force out of her mouth. "Where… where am…"

She trailed off into silence, as words simply failed her. Whatever she'd meant to say, whatever question she'd been trying to ask, her lips could no longer form it. She wasn't sure she even knew how.

It seemed like so much effort, and she was just so _tired._

Finally, having mustered together all her remaining strength, she eventually managed to try again, in the same tired, hoarse voice that sounded as if it hadn't been used in years.

"Where am…" she desperately gulped down air as she realised the words weren't the right ones, "where… where _are…_ we?"

"We're in the Arl of Denerim's estate," Shianni replied. "I hope you're up for a fight."

There was a too-long pause as Rhian tried to take this information in.

And as always, in the background, she heard the fervent, ceaseless chanting as someone prayed desperately and relentlessly to the Maker for salvation none of them were sure would ever come.

"…how…?" she managed after what felt like far too long.

Shianni's lip curled with pure disgust and malice. "Vaughan," she spat out the name as if it were poison.

"He had his friends beat Nelaros when he tried to fight back," a somewhat familiar brown-haired woman Rhian distantly recognised as Valora explained softly. "And he attacked you. After you lost consciousness he threatened to kill you if anyone tried to stop him from taking you."

"And _believe me,_ people tried," Shianni hissed furiously. "Soris and your father, for one. Nelaros too, though he wasn't able to get very far after the beating he took. Valendrian had to stop them all from getting themselves killed. Of course, _then_ the pig decided to see how far he could push his luck and had us dragged off too. The guards dumped us in here, but they'll be back. We need to be ready to fight them off."

"Which I'm sure will be easy, since the only one of us who can fight is barely conscious," Valora snapped back at her impatiently.

The argument that seemed to have been happening since she first began to claw her way back to consciousness resumed, and Rhian had already stopped listening. The smell of her own vomited stomach acid that sat in a puddle beside her finally seemed to register in her brain, causing her to lean away as far as she could since physically moving seemed to be impossible.

_"Easy,"_ a voice murmured reassuringly to her when she failed to move more than a couple of inches to the right, as a pair of hands gently clasped hers. "Take it easy."

Automatically, Rhian's eyes snapped up to the speaker, and for what felt like an eternity, she remained there, unmoving, staring blankly at him, not quite sure what to make of him. Not even entirely convinced that he was even there.

"…hey," Eugene murmured, the corners of his lips twitching with a slight smile, despite his hoarse voice and ragged breathing.

She could've cried then. Maybe she did. She was so disorientated and disillusioned with reality it was hard to say _what_ she was doing. He didn't seem to mind, whatever she did. All she could feel from him was warmth and love and relief at seeing her alive and behind that, a barely concealed ocean of pure rage.

"Next time… next time you want attention," he began after a pause, his words slurring into each other slightly as his smile grew increasingly forced, "maybe don't make me pass out like that."

Rhian couldn't help but smile. Just seeing him, knowing he was there, was enough to calm her in that moment. She didn't move as he pulled her close, holding her tightly against him in some vain effort to protect her from the situation she found herself trapped in. There was something so reassuring about him being there, about being pressed so tightly against him, about being able to hear his heart beating in his chest.

He was so far away from her, having shut himself in his bedroom halfway across the country in Highever. And yet, in that moment, they'd never been closer.

She grasped at him, grabbing up fistfuls of his shirt, pressing him against her with every last ounce of strength she still had. She buried her face in his chest and inhaled deeply, carefully taking in his scent, carefully committing it to memory, suddenly positive that she would never get to be this close to him again. His lips quirked into a pained smile as he noticed her doing this, which did nothing to detract from the agonised expression plastered across his face.

"It's me," he whispered, still holding her close. "I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not leaving. I'm here."

She was going to die here.

She almost wouldn't mind, dying here. As long as she remained in his arms.

Just like her mother.

"Rhian," he called, his voice growing clearer but all the more frantic at the same time as her eyes began to close, and she could already feel his influence in her mind, fighting to keep her conscious. "Rhian, stop. Come on, don't do this. Stay with me. _Stay with me."_

_Stay with me. Stay with me, Adaia! _the memory of her father screamed, cradling her bloodied and dying mother in front of the gates to the alienage all those years ago.

It was all so painfully familiar, and she couldn't bear it.

"Where's Eisa when you need her?" she heard Eugene snarl to no one in particular, his grip on her never once loosening. "You're going to be okay, Rhian. I promise. Just hold on. Just stay awake a little longer, okay?"

She groaned a little and reluctantly forced her eyes open once again, shooting Eugene a quick weak smile to let him know that she was still okay. Not that he needed it – if she lost consciousness here, he'd find himself unceremoniously back in Highever, unable to reach her. There was no way he wouldn't know.

She needed to stay awake. For him, if nothing else.

"We can't let them take us," Shianni shouted from a few feet away, breaking Rhian roughly out of her thoughts and bringing her harshly back into reality. "Whatever happens, we _can't_ let them take us."

Almost immediately, Valora's lip curled. "Not if it means dying."

"Because _your_ plan of doing nothing is so much better?"

"I never _said_ do nothing!"

"Maker keep us-"

"Oh for _crying out loud!"_

It all blended into a mess of noise, endless shouts as the others argued and yelled and screamed at each other, their fear and hysteria over the situation shining through. Rhian curled in on herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the noise only got worse, as it grew out of control, reverberating around her head and ringing endlessly in her ears and she couldn't think, she couldn't stay calm, she couldn't even _breathe-_

"Rhian," Eugene called softly, cutting through the confusion and the fog in her mind. "Rhian, focus on me."

Following his advice, Rhian felt herself calm somewhat, as the outside world slowly faded from her mind and she became hyper aware of him – of every single aspect of him, from the dishevelled mess that was his usually perfectly maintained hair, to the soft linen of his shirt, to the feeling of his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. She focused on every aspect of his being, grateful simply for the distraction. Reality, right now, was too terrible to even consider.

She might've stayed there forever, had she been able to.

She became so engrossed with every aspect of Eugene's being that she barely heard the door get practically thrown open, hitting the wall with a loud _smack._ She almost didn't register the sound of Shianni hurling insults and abuse, or Valora's harsh, high-pitched screams, or Nola's frantic and tearful begging as the three of them were roughly grabbed and all but dragged out of the room.

No. Reality was a cruel and awful place, and she wouldn't engage with it.

She felt the toe of a boot nudge her back then, forcing her mind back to that room, despite how much she didn't want to be there.

"Not in a good way, this one," a voice she didn't recognise noted from somewhere above. "Look at all that blood. Think Vaughan will still want her?"

"He said to bring all of them," came the harsh reply.

"Yeah? And how're we supposed to do that when this one can't even get up?"

"Well I guess you're just going to have to pick her up and carry her then, aren't you?"

"What? _Carry_ her? Why do _I_ have to carry her?"

"She's a fucking _elf,_ man. They're not that heavy. Quit your damned complaining already and just do it."

There were footsteps – heading away from her, she thought – and a string of quiet, discontent grumbling as the remaining soldier knelt down, running his hands along her body, causing countless shivers to go up Rhian's spine at the man's touch. A small, thoroughly pathetic whimper escaped her and she recoiled in some effort to shield herself from the contact; not that it was going to do anything to stop it.

"So you _are_ conscious," the soldier whispered, his lips uncomfortably close to her cheek, as he wrapped his arms around her body and hoisted her up, off the floor. "A little concussed are we, love?"

His tone made her skin crawl, all the more so when she felt him lean in real close, burying his face in her neck, and taking a long, exaggerated inhale. Rhian tensed – as much as she could – and tried to lean away, to fight, to escape, to do literally _anything,_ but the man's hold on her was too firm to break.

_Pathetic,_ that same snide voice from a dark corner of her mind whispered. _Fucking pathetic._

She was trapped in his arms and she couldn't get out and she could feel his armour sticking into her side, feel the hilt of his sword tapping against her leg as he walked, exiting the room with her in his arms and she couldn't move, she couldn't get out, she _needed_ to escape-

She felt the guard's hand close around her jawline then, forcing her head up, making sure she was looking him in the eyes before leaning in and pressing his tongue against her face, licking the line of blood from her skin. Rhian shuddered in his grip, hating how helpless she was to do anything about it, unable to think about anything other than the feeling of the guard's slimy tongue dragging along the side of her face.

Tears sprang into her eyes and she tried her best to scream – a quiet, half-choked sound that sounded more like outright sobbing than anything else.

_You're useless and pathetic and you're going to fucking die here._

"Rhian," Eugene's voice called suddenly – full of pain and sadness and a quiet but terrifying fury he only barely managed to keep from overtaking him completely. "I know you're scared and disassociating and I _really_ need you to focus for me right now. You can get out of here. You can fight, I _know_ you can."

_You're supposed to be a fighter._

"Rhian, _listen_ to me. You're not helpless."

She needed to do something, to fight back, but she had no hope of escaping, or competing with the guard physically. She needed a weapon, real or improvised, she didn't care.

A weapon like the sword hanging from the man's belt, the hilt of which kept tapping against her leg.

"Leave it," Eugene called to her sharply. "Swords are too slow on the draw. You'll never get it out of the scabbard without him noticing. There has to be… sidearm! He's got a dagger on his belt. There, you see?"

Rhian saw.

"You can do this," he encouraged her quietly as she frantically reached out for the knife. "I'm here. I'm _right here."_

_So, fight._

Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger and, in one swift motion, she ripped it from its scabbard and brought it up, plunging the blade as deep as it would go into the guard's neck.

A horrifying, blood-curdling scream erupted then as the guard reeled back, dropping Rhian unceremoniously to the floor. Rhian never let go of the blade, her hand clenching into a tight fist as she fell, feeling the resistance of the man's jugular that was ultimately unable to resist her weight. She crashed to the floor, still clutching the dagger so tightly her hand was beginning to cramp, and just a second or two later, the guard collapsed next to her, gargling helplessly as blood poured from the gaping hole where his throat had once been.

Pain spiked throughout Rhian's body, but she was so far beyond the point of caring. She simply stayed there, collapsed on the floor, beside the form of a man she didn't know was dead or not, staring idly at the ceiling of the strangely familiar hall she was in.

Why did it seem so familiar?

Then, suddenly, it clicked. She'd been here before. She'd cleaned this hall, countless times. She _worked_ here.

It shouldn't have been as shocking a revelation as it seemed.

Beside her, Eugene let out a long, ragged exhale, before twisting around to face her with a weak smile.

"You," he began, his voice low and a little hoarse, "are _amazing."_

The corners of her lips twitched as she tried – and largely failed to return his smile. He was trying to help her keep her mind off what had just happened, she knew that. It was what he usually did when something traumatic happened. Most days, Rhian loved that about him. Today, she wasn't sure she was able to stomach it.

Without a word, she crawled back over to the guard, climbing on top of the man's bloodied and ruined form, her knuckles whitening from how tightly she was clutching the dagger. For a moment, she stared down at him, unsure whether or not he was truly dead, unable to feel anything but the pure rage and hate and pain that seemed to course through every single aspect of her being. She gripped the dagger with both hands and lifted it above her head, before bringing it down with as much strength as she could muster, punching through the man's armour and ripping through the skin of his chest. Then, Rhian quickly ripped the blade from his flesh, only to ram it back in again, and again, and again, anywhere his armour was too weak to deflect the blade.

She stabbed him.

Once.

Twice.

Twenty times.

Again and again and again, repeating the same movement over and over, for what seemed like forever. Once for ruining the wedding. Once for the girl Vaughan assaulted in the alienage. Once for beating Nelaros. Once for attacking her. Once for Shianni. Once for Valora. Once for Nola. Once for Soris and her father, being beaten back when they tried to save her. Once for her mother. Once for each and every single person Vaughan and his lackeys had assaulted in the past several years. Once for each and every person who had died at their hands.

Once, for her.

A _thousand times_ for her.

Blood gushed from copious stab wounds, staining her already ruined dress and her skin, but Rhian didn't care. She didn't stop. She could never stop.

"Rhian," she heard someone call her name. "Rhian! _Rhian!"_

Furiously, she twisted around, brandishing the bloodstained dagger; only to find a shocked looking Soris staring back at her with wide eyes, holding his hands up defensively. She remained there, hunched over the guard's now very dead corpse, frozen in place as she stared aimlessly at her cousin and he stared back wordlessly. Neither of them seemed to know what to say to each other. Rhian's mind reeled from simply seeing him there, dressed in normal servant's clothes as opposed to his previous wedding attire, a longsword hanging from a belt he seemed thoroughly uncomfortable wearing.

Her lip trembled as she fought to remain composed, letting the dagger fall from her slackened grip and clatter uselessly to the floor.

"Soris…" she murmured, hating herself as tears began to well up in her eyes once again. "You're here?"

Soris gave her a tiny, somewhat shaky, crooked smile as he awkwardly knelt down beside her, not quite sure what to do with the sword at his hip. "Not just me. Nelaros too."

She blinked several times in surprise, but before she could say anything, Eugene, who was standing a few paces away and staring intently at the far end of the hall, interrupted her.

"We shouldn't stay here," he said quietly, never once looking back at her as he seemed to sense the state she was in. "Even if no one heard anything, someone's going to come out and find the corpse."

Rhian closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh that was supposed to help calm her, before ultimately staggering to her feet – only for her to almost immediately lose her balance and fall straight into Soris, who quickly did his best to catch her.

"Whoa!" he cried out, falling back slightly until he hit the wall, with her in his arms. "Whoa, Rhian, _easy."_

She didn't answer, simply sagged in her cousin's grip as her strength failed her.

_"Please_ tell me that blood isn't yours," Soris muttered as he looked over her properly for the first time – at her ruined wedding dress, at the river of dried blood plastered to the side of her face and matted into her hair, and the fresh, wet blood of the guard that seemed to cover everywhere else.

There _was_ rather a lot of it, wasn't there, she thought dimly, glancing down at herself.

"Running out of time here, sunshine," Eugene called as a warning.

She blinked a couple of times, taken somewhat aback by his use of his favourite pet name for her, but quickly forced herself past it.

"M'fine," she mumbled to Soris, pushing herself away from him and taking all of three steps down the hall before her knees buckled beneath her and she found herself falling straight back to the floor.

Before she could fall face-first onto solid stone, however, hands shot out from somewhere – she couldn't tell which direction, exactly – and caught her before she could make impact.

"Careful," a voice – not Soris, not Eugene, but someone else – said softly.

She blinked several times, a little surprised, before twisting around in order to see her saviour properly.

_"Nelaros,"_ she breathed his name in utter relief. "You're okay."

She hadn't realised how concerned she was for him until now, when she saw him there, looking battered and bruised, but otherwise in good health.

Her husband's lips twitched with a smile. "I'm fine. I'm more worried about _you."_

She tried to smile back at him, in some vain attempt at hiding just how much she was shaking from everything that had happened since the wedding ceremony. "I'm fine. They- they took the others, but I'm okay."

That was a lie, and everyone seemed to know it.

"Do you know where?" Nelaros asked, his voice low and quiet and gentle. "Rhian, do you know where the others were taken?"

For what felt like far too long, Rhian simply stared at him, her eyes glazed over, not really seeing anything as she struggled to even register the question.

Where _were_ they taken? She barely remembered them leaving at all.

Anxiously, she glanced towards Eugene, hoping his clearer head would afford him a clearer answer.

Eugene sighed and finally tore his eyes away from staring at the far end of the hall, bringing his focus back to Rhian. "If we're in the Arl of Denerim's Estate, then it's likely Vaughan took them to his quarters."

"Quarters," Rhian grunted as Nelaros helped her back to her feet, before unpinning the cloak he'd been wearing to hide his formal clothes and throwing it over her shoulders. "Vaughan's quarters, I think. We… don't have a lot of time."

Nelaros exhaled sharply and glanced at Soris, who was picking Rhian's discarded dagger up off the floor. "You know the way?"

Soris blinked several times in shock at suddenly being addressed, and began to open his mouth in order to speak, but-

"I do," Rhian cut across him before anything could be said, grabbing the folds of the cloak Nelaros had given her and pulling it tightly around herself. "I- I work here. I know the way."

Never before in her life had she been so happy that was true.

"Are you sure?" Nelaros asked, concern written all over his face.

Rhian simply nodded.

Without so much as another word, Nelaros pulled back slightly, unslinging a bow Rhian only now noticed he had from over his shoulder.

"Soris said you have combat training," Nelaros mentioned, bringing her sharply back into reality as he pressed it into her hands. "Ever done archery before?"

Rhian stared blankly at the weapon in her hands, her mouth running dry as she struggled to think of something, _anything,_ she could say in reply.

"Um," she began awkwardly, her voice almost immediately dying in her throat. "I-"

She cut off as she felt a hand clasp her shoulder.

"I have," Eugene said plainly – his voice low and his expression kept carefully impassive. "That's all you need."

Rhian's lips twitched with the faint ghost of a smile as she realised he was right, all while Nelaros was watching her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

"I… know people who have," she managed hoarsely, after far too long, before realising that didn't actually answer the question in any meaningful way. "I mean, I- …yes. I can shoot."

_What are you saying,_ some voice from a dark corner of her mind hissed. _You've never even held a bow before._

Nelaros smiled reassuringly as he unbuckled a quiver of arrows to give to her as well. "Good. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head, so try to stay out of the fighting as much as you can, okay?"

She swallowed and nodded wordlessly, her fingers numb as she pulled the belt around herself, adjusting it so the quiver sat comfortably at her hip.

_Is that it?_ the same snide thought from before continued dryly._ You're just going to stay in the back and wait for the boys to save you?_

"So, which way?"

Rhian jumped in surprise. "Oh, uh, it- it's this way."

She pushed in front of both young men then, walking slowly and shakily towards the end of the hall, putting what felt like far too much of her focus on keeping upright. The floor beneath her never seemed to stay still, and she found herself lurching every which way, no matter how much she tried to account for it.

It was almost as if the universe didn't want her to leave, at this point.

"We'll have to go through the kitchens," she mumbled as she took a sharp right turn, pushing open a door and all but falling through it.

"Rhian!" Nelaros shouted, rushing to help her steady herself.

"I'm fine!" she gasped. "I'm fine, I just-"

She cut off the instant she glanced up, only to meet his gaze. Nelaros seemed to only get more concerned for her welfare, while staying silent. Probably because he knew he couldn't protest her being there without potentially losing the only person who knew where to go.

"I'm…" she continued awkwardly, "…just glad you came."

Nelaros smiled weakly. "Well. I'd be a pretty bad husband if I didn't."

After what felt like a sheer eternity, Nelaros pulled away, though not before offering Rhian his hand, his lips quirked with a small smile meant to reassure her. Rhian took it, allowing him to pull her back up to her feet, nodding back at him appreciatively when he steadied her.

Beside her, Eugene groaned. "Right. _That's_ not going to be awkward later."

She ignored that. It was all she could do. It was already a mess, and she had other things to focus on right now. She could work out what she planned to do about Nelaros and the people in her head later. If there even _was_ a later, and this didn't end up killing her.

_You're going to die here._

She ignored that thought as best she could, leading her little party down the hallway towards the kitchens, confident that they were less likely to be spotted by guards this way. Every part of her that wasn't already completely focused on staying upright was carefully mapping out the best possible route to Vaughan's quarters, with as little chance for interaction as possible, even though it would ultimately take more time. They could maybe get away with running into servants. The guards, on the other hand, were absolutely not something she could risk.

Fights would hold them up anyway. And the more they fought, the higher the risk they would never find Shianni, Valora, and Nola at all.

She wished she could rationalise her decisions like that without it leaving a horribly sour taste in her mouth.

She breathed a small sigh of relief when they reached the door to the kitchens, pushing the door open without thinking at all about who or what was behind it.

"What in- what is the meaning of this?!" the older human man bellowed, whirling around on the spot just in time to see Rhian, Soris, and Nelaros all freeze awkwardly in the doorway.

Reflexively, Rhian pushed the other two back, making sure they were obscured enough by her that the fact that they were both carrying weapons would be lost on the human standing before them.

"You…" the cook began, his brow furrowed with confusion as his gazed fell upon Rhian, and lingered there. "I've seen you around before. You're one of the servants, aren't you? Why are you dressed like _that?"_

Rhian didn't move, frozen in place by the shock of suddenly being addressed in such a candid manner. Anxiously, she gripped the folds of the cloak and pulled it tightly around herself, hoping to hide as much of her bloodied and torn wedding dress as possible.

Of course, that wasn't going to do anything to hide the cut over her temple, or the dried blood caked to that side of her face.

"Is that _blood,_ girl? What happened? _Answer me!"_

"I- I'm _so_ sorry, ser," Eugene called, in a shockingly perfect imitation of any real elven servant on any normal day – or at least, accurate of the ones who worked for his family back in Highever. "There- there was an accident, you see, and I slipped and, well, I fell… begging your pardon, ser, but I was injured and now I need to clean up the mess."

Internally, Rhian winced by just how incredibly thick he was laying it on, deliberately playing into the stereotype of the poor hapless elf servant. Beside her, both Nelaros and Soris exchanged a shocked and confused glance, both taken aback by her sudden shift into deception.

They were right to be confused. Lying in any way wasn't the kind of thing that came naturally to her, and at the very least, _Soris_ knew that.

He was going to ask her about it later, she knew it.

At this point, it would honestly be easier to explain that she wasn't exactly at the helm anymore.

_"Useless,"_ the cook snarled, mostly to himself, though he turned away and began making his way towards one of the doors – presumably the one that led to the larder. "Adwen, get them the supplies they need so they can get _back to work."_

The only other person in the kitchen – a lone wiry elven servant skulking in a back corner – nodded at the order, and began to approach the trio as the cook exited, slamming the door behind him.

"Here," he grunted, pulling off his apron and lightly tossing it to Nelaros. "Put that on. Cook's blinder than he thinks he is, but the soldiers aren't. You'll want to hide those fancy clothes if you want to get past unnoticed. And maybe hide the weapons next time. Say you've got to take them to the armoury or something."

Nelaros blinked several times, turning the dirtied apron over in his hands a couple of times before noticing the urgent look he was getting and hastily slipping it over his head.

"Thank you, Adwen," Rhian murmured.

He nodded at her. "Least I could do. Now get out of here before he comes back."

She didn't need to be told twice. Quickly, she ushered Nelaros and Soris out of the kitchen and into yet another hallway, frantically hoping it was the one she'd meant to enter. She couldn't lose her bearings here. Too much depended on her knowing the way.

"This way," she murmured, taking off down the hall as Nelaros and Soris both ran to catch up with her.

"Can we- can we _talk_ about what happened just then?" Soris gasped frantically, trying – and utterly failing – to keep the rising panic out of his voice.

"Nothing happened, Soris," Rhian told him curtly. "Or would you have preferred it if I told the truth?"

"No, but-"

"Then there's nothing to talk about."

In that moment, she wasn't sure who was talking – her, or Eugene. She wasn't sure it even mattered. It wasn't like she could explain it anyway.

Anxiously, she ran her fingers along the smooth wood of the bow she'd slung over her shoulder, just to reinforce to herself that it was still there, that she wasn't defenceless, and that even if she didn't know the first thing about using it, Eugene was still with her and had no such problems.

She wished she could talk to him. She wished there was a way for her to do that without coming off completely insane.

"This isn't normal for her?" she heard Nelaros asked quietly from behind.

"Trust me," came Soris' tired reply, _"nothing_ about this is _normal_ for her."

She didn't take any obvious notice of their quiet conversation, knowing it would just led into more things she'd have to explain later. More things she wasn't sure she _could_ explain, at any time. Instead, she focused on where she was going, frantically trying to recall her knowledge of the estate's layout, running down what was starting to seem like endless maze of hallways and rooms she didn't quite recognise – a problem which only worsened every time she felt compelled to double-back or change course altogether, in some vain attempt to avoid any possible confrontation.

It was starting to feel as though she was never going to get there in time.

It was necessary. She had to do this. The three of them – _four,_ if she included Eugene – could hardly just slaughter their way through Arl Urien's entire garrison. She could be the best swordsperson in the world and it would still be suicide. And they were no use to Shianni, Valora, and Nola, if they died here.

It was the rational thing to do. It was logical. And _so_ frustrating.

Being careful was probably the hardest thing she'd ever done, when every fibre of her being _screamed_ at her to barrel her way through, murdering anyone and everyone who got in her way. It was so intensely difficult to keep herself back every time she hid behind a corner, careful to keep herself and the boys out of sight as guards passed by, unawares. It was almost impossible to fight back the ocean of pure _rage_ that filled every part of her every time she so much as glanced the uniform armour of the guards.

But fighting would make it worse. Killing everyone would make it worse. They were probably already risking the alienage getting purged just by being here. She'd already killed a man, after all.

She was going to die here.

Even if she found Vaughan's quarters in time, even if she got there before he could do whatever vile atrocity he was planning, even if they all got out safe and fine, someone would have to take the blame for the crime she was about to commit. Either she would confess and die for it, or she'd try to hide and everyone in the alienage would be massacred in recompense.

There was no way out of this. No way it ended well. Not for her. Part of her seemed to accept that. The rest of her was terrified. The rest of her was screaming at her to run, to flee into the wilderness and never come back, to find Aneurin's clan and beg them to take her in, to start a new life as one of the Dalish.

She could go to Highever, she supposed. Nelaros had family there, and Eugene would protect her. They could all go. Her and Nelaros and Shianni and Soris and Valora and Nola and her father. Smuggle themselves into Highever's alienage and change their names and start their lives as completely different people.

Her lip curled slightly at the thought. She was getting truly delirious now. When did plans like that _ever_ work out? What about any of this made her think she would get a happy ending?

She was going to die here. Killed in battle or murdered in a purge or executed, she didn't know. But she was going to die here, in this hole of a city, in the dirt of the back alleys and slums she'd long dreamed of leaving behind. It was her fate. It was always going to be.

Knowing that, knowing her fate and accepting it, she stopped.

"We're nearly there," she murmured, just loud enough for Nelaros and Soris to hear her, though they weren't who she was directing the comment to. "Just around this corner. There will probably be guards."

Eugene nodded, his hand moving towards the bow still slung over her shoulder while motioning to Soris and Nelaros to be quiet with the other. Silently, he drew the bow and nocked an arrow, his fingers curling around the bow string. Rhian jerked her head slightly to the side, trying to remain in control of her own body – at least to some degree. At least enough to make it feel like it was really her preparing to fire.

It was always a little disconcerting, losing control like that. Even when she meant to.

She had twelve arrows. She'd counted. Eugene had as well. Every shot had to count. She couldn't miss. _He_ couldn't miss.

_Please don't miss,_ she found herself silently begging as Eugene let out a soft exhale and leaned out, just enough to peek around the corner.

Two guards.

Both of them standing there, staring aimlessly ahead, unaware of the danger. An image of deer grazing the woods flashed through Rhian's mind, and she found herself unable to help but compare the two. She was basically just doing what Aneurin would while on a hunt.

She could do this.

He could do this.

They could _do this._

Twelve arrows.

She found herself taking careful of everything Eugene did, how he stood, how he held the bow, how he brought the bowstring back until it was in line with his ear, the tension as he pulled back to full draw, what it all felt like. She took it all in, hoping that soon, she wouldn't need his help to do this.

Barely a second had passed when Eugene let loose, the arrow whizzing through the air until it met its mark – piercing the man's exposed neck and punching straight through the other side. Eugene didn't react as the guard fell and the remaining leapt to attention, whirling around and searching wildly for the threat. In an instant, he nocked another arrow and fired that too.

Rhian didn't see where that one went, only that the second guard fell to his knees, rasping.

Ten arrows.

"They're not dead," Eugene said bluntly, his eyes flicking to Soris. "Not yet. You still have that knife?"

Without a word, Soris nodded, producing the dagger Rhian had killed the guard with earlier. Rhian took it from him, finally emerging from around the corner to find the two collapsed guards; both of whom were struggling to breathe.

It wasn't a quick death, getting hit by arrows. It was slow and painful and probably one of the worse ways to die in general. Rhian almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

Her mother had taught her to aim for the throat. It was too obvious a weak point to ignore – and the guard uniform was notoriously weak at the joints. They didn't even wear helmets, most of the time.

Served them right.

After she'd slit both men's throats, she carefully wrested a sword from one's hand and motioned for Nelaros and Soris to join her, shoving the sword into Nelaros' hands.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Three guards dead. Two longswords, one dagger, and one bow between them. Ten arrows left.

She readied the bow once again – this time it was her, she knew what to do now, it was her, it _had_ to be her – and opened the door.

Vaughan whirled around at the sound of the door slamming into the wall. "What-?"

Rhian fired.

The arrow hit him in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards gripping the shaft with both hands. For a moment, no one moved, as Vaughan collapsed against the back wall, a look of pure shock plastered across his face; like he'd never had to seriously consider his mortality until that exact moment. The entire room was silent, except for the quiet tearful sniffling of what Rhian assumed was Nola, from the corner. Even Vaughan's two lackeys – Rhian didn't care to know their names – simply stared in stunned silence.

She nocked another arrow, and immediately fired again, again at Vaughan.

He was her focus. He was all she ever saw. She stared at him, unblinkingly, barely taking notice as both Soris and Nelaros charged out from behind her, brandishing their weapons at the other two humans. She kept her eyes solely on Vaughan, her knuckles whitening as her grip on the bow tightened.

Eight arrows.

"W-wait," he rasped in her direction, struggling to his feet. "If you kill me-"

Another arrow buried itself in his gut.

"Say that again," she told him flatly.

It seemed to take a great deal of effort for him as he gasped desperately for air. "If… if you kill me-"

He never got to finish that sentence, grunting in pain as he was hit with another arrow. That had sort of been the point. People like him always tried for more than they deserved. People like him always would. That wasn't going to change. It was all she could do to make him suffer for it.

"There'll be a purge!" he screamed as he recovered, somewhat. As much as he could after having taken four arrows, anyway. "You hear me! I'll burn that fucking slum you call home to the ground _myself!"_

The alienage would be purged. People were going to die for this. She didn't doubt that. She just didn't think it'd be _him_ doing it. She wasn't planning on letting him have the satisfaction.

So, she loosed another arrow.

The blow punched the air from his lungs, but Vaughan was famous for nothing if it wasn't trying to talk his way out of any and every situation. Not that he was doing a very good job of it.

"I'll kill every last miserable little shit I find! I'll-"

He cut off as yet one more arrow hit him, this time squarely in the chest as Rhian drew ever closer, her hand hovering over the quiver that she had been steadily emptying.

She shot him again, and again, with ruthless efficiency, watching on in slight satisfaction as both arrows punctured his abdomen.

Two arrows.

It was all too easy, really, fighting against people who weren't even armed. Served them right, Rhian thought, as she found herself becoming slightly more aware of the rest of the room, of the two bloodied corpses Soris and Nelaros had left behind, of the fact that her husband and cousin were now in the corner, trying to see to the girls who were huddled there.

"Did they touch you?" she heard Soris frantically whisper to Shianni, Valora, and Nola. "Shianni, did they touch any of you?"

Rhian didn't hear the answer. She didn't need to. She loosed another arrow.

Vaughan collapsed against the wall, coughing and gasping as blood welled up in his throat and dribbled down his chin as he struggled to spit it out.

_"Bitch!"_ he gasped out as he struggled to remain standing. "You'll be hanged for this! You'll-"

He cut off abruptly as Rhian silently nocked yet one more arrow – her last one – and loosed it, watching on impassively as it punctured his shoulder, tearing mercilessly through skin and muscle and sending him collapsing against the wall once again.

It wasn't a lethal shot, she knew that. None of her shots had been. The injuries were nothing he couldn't recover from, provided he had a competent healer on hand – which he undoubtedly did. He'd be in excruciating pain for a good long while, and it'd be likely he'd never fully recover, but he would absolutely survive.

For a moment – just one, single moment – Rhian seriously considered leaving him like that. She seriously wondered if leaving him crippled with chronic pain for the remainder of his life was punishment enough. Death, it seemed to her, was too merciful. At this point, _anything_ she did to him would seem too merciful.

She tossed the bow away, her hand instead moving to the hilt of the dagger as Vaughan, with a cry of pain, forced himself back up to his feet, and charged at her, roaring incoherently, full of nothing but unbridled fury.

Almost without thinking, she reached out – or perhaps Eugene did, she wasn't sure – and grabbed Vaughan's wrist, pulling his arm across his chest, directing his momentum away from her and thrusting the dagger into his neck, the blade angled upwards from just above his collarbone.

Vaughan sagged in her grip then, and she simply watched on, slowly descending to her knees with him as the last of his strength finally left him, careful to keep eye contact all the while. Finally, _mercifully,_ he fell backwards and Rhian let him go, exhaling softly as Vaughan's corpse – bloodied and peppered with arrows – collapsed lifelessly to the floor.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, like that.

Maybe it didn't matter.

"Shi- …Shianni," she croaked out after far too long, turning to where the others were. "Shianni, are you… did they-"

She cut off.

She didn't know why she cut off.

Confused, Rhian glanced over to Eugene, only to find herself staring blankly at empty space. She hadn't even noticed him go. When had he left? Usually he said something. She twisted around, trying to find him, trying to see some sign, only to find herself, very suddenly, not in the room anymore.

She didn't know _where_ she was.

There were flashes, flashes of things she didn't recognise, of humans and a cave and a friend and some old stone wall that looked like part of a ruin and something set into some kind of stone platform, cool and smooth and reflecting something back at her, something dark, something reaching out for her and she didn't know-

She screamed, then. She screamed as her body felt like it had been engulfed in fire, as every part of her burned, as screams erupted in her head and she struggled to move, struggled to see, struggled to even _breathe-_

"M-mana!" she gasped out frantically in a language she didn't know, her eyes rolling back into her skull as she clawed blindly at the floor and pain spiked mercilessly throughout her body. "Ma halani!"

"Rhian? _Rhian!"_ a voice – a voice she knew, a voice she recognised but could no longer place, shouted her name. "Rhian, what's- damn it! Soris, get the girls out of here!"

"What? What about you?"

"Don't _worry_ about me! Just get everyone back to alienage!"

"But-"

_"Go!"_

She didn't know where she was. She didn't even know _who_ she was.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Void if I know! We need to get her out of here!"

She was nowhere.

"Rhian? Rhian, can you hear me? You're okay. It's going to be okay."

And suddenly, she was _everywhere._

Inky blackness bled into her vision, pulling her mind, pulling her back into unconsciousness. She didn't fight it. In that moment, she couldn't have, even if she'd _wanted_ to. It was all she could to simply let it take her.

_"Can you hear me?"_ a voice – one she didn't know, one she couldn't place no matter how much she strained what remained of her mind – whispered to her from a thousand miles away. _"I am… very sorry."_


	6. The Proving, Part II

Joachim had seen more than his fair share of the inside of a cell – mostly back when he was young and an idiot who didn't know how to avoid getting on the wrong side of the authorities. Back before he realised that simply wandering the Commons while daring to have a brand on his face was grounds for arrest when it came to some people. He'd been imprisoned a thousand times, thrown in a thousand different cells, and he'd escaped a thousand times.

Leske thought he was an escape artist. In reality, he just knew someone who really rather exceptionally good at picking locks.

He probably should've learned that himself, at some point in his life. It would've been a smart idea. But he would rarely run into a problem that couldn't be solved with brute force, and had grown complacent. Even when brute force wouldn't help him, he always had other people to rely on.

Well, he _usually_ did.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

"Just a lock," he grumbled, entirely to himself. "That's all I want. Just _one fucking lock._ But _no,_ because he's got to go and pick _now_ of _all fucking times_ to go and lose _fucking consciousness…"_

Why was it that _Eugene Cousland,_ the spoiled pampered noble brat, was the only one who knew his way around a lock? Why was _he_ the one who could break into where he wasn't wanted? What kind of sense did _that_ make? To this day, Eugene _still_ hadn't explained where he learned. Or how. Or even _why._ It was just that thing he did. That thing they all had come to rely on him for.

And now, the thing that Joachim was cursing him out for.

He couldn't reach him. He couldn't seem to reach _any_ of them, not even Yeva, who was usually the easiest for him to contact. Eugene was out. Rhian was out. Eisa, Ellis, and Yeva were all ignoring him for reasons he couldn't deduce. And Aneurin wasn't going to be able to do shit to help, even if he managed to reach him. After all, did the Dalish even know what a lock _was,_ let alone how to pick one? They were all wrapped up in their own problems, he guessed. That was usually the explanation every time he found himself inexplicably alone. But he was starting to get desperate and what was even _the point_ of having them around if they wouldn't come to help bail him out of various life-or-death situations?

He needed new friends. Or whatever these people were to him.

"C'mon," he growled, to no one in particular, straining his mind as much as it would allow. "C'mon, _c'mon,_ you fucking prick-"

He cut off almost immediately as across from him, from another cell, he heard Leske groan loudly. "You talking to the air again?"

"Trying to concentrate here, Leske," he snarled back, in no mood to be tolerable.

"Yeah, well your _concentrating_ is giving _me_ a headache."

Joachim swore under his breath at that.

"We need to get out of this hole," he grunted to no one in particular, eyes trailing over the iron bars that stood obstinately between him and freedom.

"And go _where?"_ Leske shot back. "That's a one-way ticket to getting your ass arrested, and then we're right back where we started."

"I'll take the guards over Beraht and Jarvia," Joachim reasoned. "Can't be any worse."

_"Can't_ it? Well then, let's see," Leske began in a twisted pompous mockery of someone from the Noble Caste. "Hm. Public whipping, to start. Loss of your left hand for stealing the armour. Loss of your _right_ hand for befouling a smith's work."

Joachim sighed, slapping his palm to his forehead in exasperation. He didn't need to hear this. Not right now. All it really did was reinforce the idea that he absolutely couldn't stay here.

"Not to mention, public flaying for impersonating a higher caste," Leske continued dryly, "and if _that_ doesn't kill you, they'll put you to death for polluting the Proving. And this, let me remind you, is the _good_ option."

"So you're saying we're fucked."

"I'm saying _you're_ fucked," Leske corrected, leaning on the bars and watching Joachim with an arched eyebrow. "Only way you get out clean is if you leave Orzammar entirely, which is gonna be _kinda difficult._ So unless you're feeling like grovelling to Beraht, or better yet, using your feminine charm to seduce some idiot with the keys…"

"Oh for _fuck's sake,_ Leske-"

"I mean, you always _were_ better at taking it in the ass."

Joachim's lip curled at the jab. "No one will ever fall for that. Besides, we all know you're the effeminate one here. Why don't _you_ use _your_ womanly wiles?"

"Ha! Like that's ever going to happen. I've got _some_ dignity, salroka."

"We're in prison and probably about to die, and you're worried about wounding your ego?" Joachim asked, before putting on a dramatic pout. "C'mon honey, you've done worse."

"You're not even being funny now."

"Yeah, well, I'm not super entertained by your jokes either," Joachim retorted sourly. "Do we have another option?"

_"You_ don't. I, on the other hand, can sit tight and pray to the ancestors you end up taking all the blame."

"You're a real bastard, Leske."

"That's born and raised Carta for you, baby."

Joachim didn't reply to that, simply resumed clawing desperately the lock, hoping against hope that it would somehow decide to open without any real effort on his part. All he could really think about was he _needed_ to get out of here, get out of Orzammar, find Rica and his mother and flee to the surface, to keep running for as long and as far as he could.

That was all that mattered, really – Rica's safety. And their mother's too, despite everything.

His lip curled automatically at that thought.

He was _so_ fucking soft.

But Rica, Rica _had_ to be okay. As much as Yeva hated her – as much as Yeva hated _everyone_ – she wouldn't let anything happen to her. And if Bhelen-

He felt nausea rise in his throat the instant he thought of the young prince having _anything_ to do with his sister. He couldn't remember when exactly he found out he was the one Rica had been vaguely hinting at earlier, only that it now seemed inescapable. He'd learned it through Yeva, maybe. He couldn't think of any other way he would've found out.

Joachim couldn't _stand_ the idea that Rica may one day have a child whose aunt would be Yeva. Because then they'd be related. And then he'd have to see her. All the time. In_ real life,_ as well as his head. And then he'd have to explain to Rica how he knew the princess so bizarrely well and she'd be so confused and she wouldn't know what to think, because it would sound like _magic_ and maybe it _was_ magic but _he_ wasn't supposed to _have_ magic, and then Rica would have to live with the fact that her brother was a fucking _freak of nature,_ and Bhelen had better take _good fucking care of her-_

Why was he even thinking about this? Why was he even letting himself jump that far ahead, when he wasn't sure he was going to live to see the next day? And even if he did, how could he know that he would _ever_ see Rica again?

He glanced uneasily around the cell, suddenly overcome with the realisation that he could very well die here.

What would happen, if he died here? Would Rica ever find out the truth of his fate? Would Beraht go after her, and risk pissing off the Royal Family and potentially the entire Assembly in the process? And what about the others? Would they feel it, when he died? How would they handle it? Would they all just lose a piece of themselves, with no explanation? Would they go on like nothing happened? Would it affect them? Would it hurt them? If what happened to one of them happened to all of them, as it sometimes did, it could very well _kill_ them.

_I don't know what happens when one of us dies,_ Yeva had said. _And I don't intend to find out._

Suddenly, he didn't think it was her decision to make.

He was going to die here. Either Beraht would kill him, or he'd be left to rot in this cell until he starved. Jarvia had made that clear earlier, when she'd come in to gloat at them.

Neither was a particularly appealing option.

He had to get out of here.

"Think Beraht is actually coming?" he asked as he leaned on the bars of his cell. "Or is leaving us in here to rot his way of _maintaining our silence?"_

Leske shrugged. "Better than dying, right?"

"This _is_ dying, Leske. This is rotting away in a cell until we're dead."

"Ancestors, Joachim, would it _kill_ you to be even slightly more positive?"

Joachim let out a harsh growl and pushed himself away from the bars, running a hand through his hair and trying to focus on breathing. He didn't share Leske's view; especially not now, when all he could think about was Rica's safety and well-being.

"What I don't get," he began thunderously, quickly turning on his heels to face Leske's cell across from him, "is how you're apparently so _damn_ useless you can't keep a sodding drunk from wandering into the arena!"

Leske groaned loudly and smacked his palm to his forehead. "How many times do I have to apologise for that? I _told_ you, some guards were walking past and they saw him in the room behind me."

"And you couldn't tell them to _fuck off?"_

"Oh _yeah,_ because that's a completely sane idea that wouldn't have gotten me run through," Leske drawled. "They heard the announcement of the bout and told him to get his ass into gear, okay? Nothing I could do."

"Except get yourself arrested!"

"Oh _sorry,_ I'll be sure to turn the brand on my face fucking _invisible_ next time they put the entire Proving Grounds under lockdown, shall I? Besides, aren't _you_ the one who got himself caught in the first place?" Leske shot back venomously. "I _told_ you it was suicide to go out there!"

"Because Beraht _totally_ would've just let that happen-"

"We might've stood a chance at getting out of Orzammar, at least!"

"Shut up!" an abrupt and thoroughly agitated third voice screamed, slicing right through Joachim's train of thought. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up!"_

Immediately, Joachim whirled around, frantically bringing up a clenched fist and swinging it wildly in the direction of the new speaker.

There was a resounding _crack_ as his knuckles impacted with solid stone and Joachim quickly had to bite back a howl of pain, leaping away from the cell wall, nursing his now bleeding hand.

"You-" he hissed furiously at the elf standing in the corner, his breathing growing ragged as he fought through the excruciating pain in his arm, "…asshole! What the ever loving _fuck,_ Ellis?!"

Ellis simply stared right back at him, eyes wide and somewhat shocked at the entire display. Then, he whirled around on the spot, frantically scanning his surroundings and trying to work out where on earth he even was as the colour quickly drained from his face.

None of the elves handled being underground very well – though Aneurin even more so than either Ellis or Rhian. Joachim had noticed that a long time ago, though he was at a loss as to why that was.

"Where- …huh? I- I'm not-" Ellis stammered, already pulling at the magic around him, cloaking himself in it like some sort of protective shield. "Joachim? _What?"_

For what felt like far two long, the two young men simply stared at each other in shock, neither able to quite wrap his head around what had just happened. Somewhere in the background, Joachim knew that Leske was still talking to him, but he'd long since stopped paying attention. Sooner or later he'd figure out that he wasn't listening anymore.

"What're you playing at?" he demanded in a furious whisper, careful to not let his voice get too loud, out of fear that Leske would hear him. Mumbling to himself, that was fine. But the second he gave anyone the impression he was having an actual conversation, that was when it was all over for his sanity.

_"Playing at?"_ Ellis repeated, not bothering to hide the outrage that now coloured his tone. "I'm not _playing_ at anything, I just- …wait," he cut off as it finally seemed to click in his mind where exactly they were. "Are we in a _cell_ right now?"

"The legendarily superior elven eyesight never ceases to amaze," Joachim deadpanned. "Get me out."

For a moment, Ellis simply stared at him like he was completely insane. "Get you out? _Seriously?_ I'm in the middle of something right now! Get Eugene to do it."

"Love to, but Eugene ain't _here,_ is he?" Joachim growled in response.

"Have you tried _contacting _him?"

"Course I have! What, you think I'm somehow _new_ to this?"

Ellis arched an eyebrow at that. "Look. I'm _kind of busy here,_ Joachim. Find someone else."

"You can't take _two seconds_ out of your damn day to magic a door-"

"Hey, _hey!" _yet another voice shouted as a Carta thug – one Joachim didn't recognise, not that it said much – barrelled into the room, looking livid as he bashed his sword against the cell bars in some attempt at showing authority. "Leave off with the fucking _noise_ you two! You're giving me a _headache."_

"Whoa, _whoa,"_ Leske called out, giving a brief look to Joachim before turning his attention to the guard. "A headache? That's how it started for _him,_ too."

Joachim's eyes narrowed as Leske nodded in his general direction. The guard – or as much as a Carta member could be _called_ a guard, anyway – glanced at him as well, before returning his attention to Leske.

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Leske seemed to visibly pale at the question. "Did- didn't you hear the yelling from before? He's _hearing things,_ muttering nonsense, arguing with the wall… I think he's gone mad!"

Joachim's lip curled at his friend, even as the corners of Ellis' lips twitched with the barest hint of a crooked smile.

_"So_ gonna kick your ass for this, Leske," Joachim growled icily under his breath, before going into an overly theatrical feint. "Oh, no! The- the _demons!_ They're in my head! I- I can hear them! W-what's that? But, oh powerful demon lord who holds dominion over my soul, I have not the power- …oh. Oh? I…"

The guard didn't seem all that impressed with the performance, and Joachim couldn't exactly blame him. Acting had never been his strong suit. But as he went on, Ellis reached out, the air audibly sizzling and crackling with heat around his hands, and pressed his palm against the cell door's locking mechanism.

For a moment, one long, painful moment that seemed to last absolutely forever, nothing happened at all.

And then, slowly, a bright orange glow slowly spread as the metal was heated to the point of melting. There was a harsh groaning as the door warped and twisted from the pressure, and both the Carta guard and Leske leapt back, eyes wide with abject horror. No doubt Leske had just been hoping the guard would get close enough to the cell for Joachim to knock him out, or something similar. But there was something thoroughly cathartic about seeing their utterly terrified faces as the lock slowly melted away, a small pool of liquid metal forming on the dirty floor, setting the scattered straw alight and burning into the stone.

"What the _fuck-"_

The door swung open with a low, grating _creak,_ only just barely still hanging onto the wall by its hinges. Joachim stepped out, unable to help but revel in the feeling of _power_ that surrounded Ellis, of the feeling that he was capable of doing anything at all. For a moment, nothing could stand in his way.

Briefly, he wondered if this was what being a god felt like.

The guard turned to flee, screaming at the top of his lungs for help, despite Joachim knowing that his voice couldn't possibly carry that far down the maze of tunnels that made up the base.

He felt another rush of raw power flow through him as Ellis raised a hand, his eyes never wavering from the guard's back, and clenched his fist.

Immediately, the screams cut off, fading into frantic gasps for air as some invisible force constricted around the guard, crushing him with magical pressure. A fire seemed to burn in Ellis' eyes as he waited a second or two, before his fist clenched all the tighter, knuckles whitening from the tension, his focus unbroken – even as a sickening _crunch_ sounded out, and the guard dropped limply to the floor, thoroughly dead.

For such a long time after that, there was silence.

For such a long time after that, Joachim simply stayed where he was, not entirely sure if his situation was real.

"Thanks," he called quietly as he forced himself to move forwards, his gaze never leaving the guard's broken corpse, as if some part of him was afraid it would get up again.

When he didn't receive a reply, he glanced up, just enough to see that Ellis had already gone. He probably hadn't been lying about having something of his own to deal with. Joachim couldn't help but feel a little bitter about that – he'd forgotten what having a mage at his disposal really felt like. He'd forgotten how terrifying and _fun_ magic really was.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he felt something; some twinge of discomfort, some vague feeling of icy breath on the back of his neck as the lips of something – some unknown creature hidden in the darkest recesses of his mind; something he hadn't realised was there before – pulled back into a malicious grin.

He shook his head slightly, not wanting to give it any consideration. He had bigger things to worry about.

He kept thinking that, repeating it over and over in a small mantra to himself, determined to focus only on that as he pulled a set of bloodied keys from the guard's pocket, and shuffled his way over to Leske's cell. For a moment – a strange, unbelievably tense moment that should not have been as stressful as it was – he fumbled with the keys, his brow creasing with frustration as they continuously slipped from his grasp, too slick with blood.

It made him feel stupid, and slow, and so excruciatingly clumsy, after he'd just witnessed Ellis burn a hole through solid iron with absolute ease.

Why couldn't he do that?

Why wasn't _he_ allowed to have magic?

Why did he have to be born a _dwarf_ – and a _casteless_ one at that?

The lock clicked at that point, allowing Joachim to pull the door open with some effort. Ancient, rusted hinges squeaked uncomfortably as he opened the cell, only now noticing that Leske was pressing himself against the far wall, in some attempt to get as far away from him as physically possible.

Joachim suppressed a long, tired sigh. The last thing he wanted to do right now was explain himself to Leske. How was he supposed to _start_ that conversation – let alone in such a way that didn't make him come off as completely insane?

"Leske," he called out tiredly after an excruciating pause. "You coming, or what?"

"What the _fuck_ did you just do?" came the reply, clearly terrified and fighting desperately not to show it.

"Killed a guy," Joachim answered as cheerfully as he could manage. "C'mon Leske, I thought you were born and raised Carta. What's a little murder between friends?"

Slowly, Leske edged his way out of the cell – his desire for freedom apparently overcoming his terror of whatever just happened. Joachim stood back, holding the door open for him, anxiously glancing towards the entrance of the prison every few seconds. It was all he could do to hope the commotion hadn't attracted any attention. He didn't have any armour _or _weapons, and Ellis wasn't there to back him up. Unless Yeva miraculously came to his rescue again-

He fought the urge to snort. Since when could he rely on Her Royal Highness, Princess Yeva Aeducan of Orzammar, to bail him out of literally _anything?_

And as for her actions at the Proving – that didn't count. Because in the end, he'd ended up here, and she hadn't lifted a single fucking finger to help him.

"Can you do that again?"

Joachim blinked several times in surprise at the sound of Leske's tentative question; caught completely off guard.

"No," he managed in a slightly strained voice, realising that this was it. He'd have to tell Leske everything. Fifteen years of keeping carefully quiet about this connection – or whatever it was – and now he was going to tell someone about it. They'd always had this unspoken promise not to reveal what was between them, and here he was, about to be the first to break it.

It was strange, really. He'd never thought it would be him.

"You _sure?"_

"It was a one time thing, Leske," Joachim replied. "These demons, they're picky. And _busy, _apparently!"

He yelled that last part – clearly directed at people who were no longer there. The rest of it he'd meant it as a joke, realising _way_ too late that Leske had no way of knowing that.

"I'm _kidding,"_ he exclaimed, despite knowing that the moment was gone and there was no point in trying to convince anyone. "Leske, I'm _kidding._ It's a _joke._ I'm not possessed."

"I just watched you burn through solid iron and crush a man to death by staring at him and clenching your fist," Leske pointed out, still torn between being in awe and being utterly terrified. "The fuck do I know?"

"It's… _not_ what it looks like," Joachim insisted feebly, not sure what else to say, how to even begin explaining himself.

Leske just arched an incredulous eyebrow at that. "You think? 'Cause it _looked_ a lot like magic, slaroka."

"I'm not a mage."

"Could've fooled me."

"Leske. I'm serious. Dwarves can't do magic. You _know_ that."

"I apparently don't know shit," Leske countered quietly, folding his arms and looking at Joachim with an expectant expression.

Joachim let out a groan and began massaging his forehead furiously, feeling a headache coming on. He couldn't do this right now. He wasn't _prepared_ to do this right now. Of all the people he could've unintentionally pulled to his side, why did it have to be _Ellis?_ More than that, _why_ did Ellis have to be so _flashy_ about it?

"We need to go," he mumbled, casting his eyes back to the prison door for a second before hastily making his way over to it.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa!"_ Leske shouted as he chased after him. "Wait a _damn_ minute! Tell me what the _fuck_ just happened!"

"Is now _really_ the _time?!"_ Joachim hissed back as he pushed the door open and they both staggered out into the cold tunnels that made up the majority of the Carta base.

"Does Beraht know?"

He stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, twisting around to face Leske, eyes wide with surprise, shock, and a whole lot of outrage.

"What?" he asked blandly, before the reality of the question hit him. _"Of course_ Beraht doesn't know! _No one_ knows!"

"You're a dwarf who can do magic," Leske insisted as Joachim turned back around and the two resumed their quiet escape. "Probably the first ever to _exist,_ and you never _told_ anyone? You could've used it to get out of Dust Town _years_ ago!"

"It doesn't _work_ like that! And can you keep your damn voice_ down?"_

"Does _Rica_ know?"

_"No one knows,_ Leske," he growled once more, as quietly as possible as he made his way as stealthily as possible through the tunnel complex.

His knees burned slightly from the steep incline, painfully aware that he was moving further and further away from Dust Town – but they'd never be able to get out that way. That entrance was kept under strict surveillance – Beraht couldn't have just any old duster getting inside his fancy base. Of course, the direction he was heading in would lead him straight to Beraht's shop, but there was at least _some_ chance of him getting out that way, rather than none at all.

They approached the end of the tunnels and the beginnings of the parts of the base that were actually structured into real rooms – the scattered remnants of old storerooms back before the Carta took up residence here. Joachim had to wonder what whomever had owned the shop before Beraht took it over would think, if they'd lived to see it in this state. If they'd be impressed with the Carta's ingenuity, or just horrified to see it mutilated by the thugs who usually swarmed all over it like wasps.

On any normal day, they'd have been caught by now. Never before had he been so happy to know that Beraht was currently undermanned – most of the others had been sent on some obscure mission to the Deep Roads that both Joachim and Leske had been carefully kept out of. Something about an important client and securing the future of Orzammar. It had all sounded dreadfully important.

He felt a twinge of nervousness then; knowing Yeva was also forging her way into the Deep Roads right at this very moment. And despite himself – despite her and all her shitty behaviour towards him and everything else she'd ever interacted with, despite the fact that he _knew _she could handle herself perfectly well – he found himself fearing for her. Darkspawn and deepstalkers were all well and good, but the Carta was a different story.

Maybe there was still something there, some vague old echo of the friendship they'd used to share. Maybe, despite them growing into entirely different people over all these years, they'd never really lost that.

He couldn't go back for Rica and his mother now, anyway. All he could do was flee from this place and hope to the ancestors that Yeva would protect them.

Up ahead, he could see it – see the door that led into the main chamber of the shop's basement. He was so close now, so painfully close to freedom, so close to ending his life here and starting something new, something productive, something _good_ on the surface and-

A hand reached out and gripped his upper arm, pulling him roughly backwards and behind a corner as the door was practically thrown open. Joachim twisted around just enough to give Leske a vicious glare, only to freeze dead in place almost immediately.

"…I'm _done_ with her," the all too horrifyingly familiar voice of Beraht sounded out as the man himself stalked in from the entryway, flanked by two of his most loyal goons. "First she openly lies to my damn face, and _now_ her _fucking brother_ costs me the Proving! The bitch is more trouble than she's _worth!"_

Quickly, Joachim was pressing himself as hard against the wall as physically possible, still and deathly silent as his blood turned to ice in his veins. He didn't move. He didn't dare even _breathe._

"And _how_ did the princess find out?" Beraht demanded, grabbing one of the others by the collar and pulling him close, glaring at the man. "Huh? How the _fuck _did she _find out?_ How is it she has Rica under her protection before anyone can get close? _How_ did she know fast enough to put the _entire fucking palace_ on lockdown before any of our guys could get in?"

Joachim had to fight the urge to breathe a sigh of relief at that news. Rica was safe. She was alive, and safe in the palace. Suddenly, his animosity towards the royal family didn't feel quite as dire.

_Thank you, Yeva._

"M-maybe Bhelen told her, boss," the man stammered, stiff with fear even as Beraht released his grip and pushed him away out of sheer frustration.

_"Bhelen_ didn't _know," _he snarled back. "You think I'm fucking _stupid?! _If he knew I had _anything_ on his precious little slut, he'd never have agreed to-"

He cut off then, because in that very moment, Joachim had let out a harsh scream of pure rage and charged around the corner, his clenched fist slamming into Beraht's jaw with all the strength he could muster.

There was a moment of shocked silence as the crime boss went down, clutching his face and crumpling to the floor. For that entire time, Joachim simply stood over him, his chest heaving with effort from the attack, his other fist pulled back and fire in his eyes.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, reality seemed to settle back down and Beraht's men leapt at Joachim, just as Leske burst out from their hiding place himself, brandishing a small jagged shank he must have cobbled together prior to their escape.

The air filled with screams as they all struggled, grabbing at each other, punching, hissing, biting, scratching, and howling like feral animals. Joachim grunted in pain and staggered back as a blow connected with his stomach, wheezing slightly and winded, but determined not to let it keep him down. Blood flowed freely Leske plunged his shank into anything and anyone who came too close, brandishing it even as their aggressors finally went down.

Slowly, Joachim made his way back to where Beraht was, sprawled out on the floor, while clutching his aching stomach and panting heavily. His knees buckled beneath him and he sank down until he was practically sitting on Beraht's chest, staring down at him, memories of a thousand different abuses flashing through his mind.

He was sure Beraht said something then, something that he imagined was supposed to be threatening. He didn't hear it. Instead, his raised his fist once again, and brought it down, revelling in the satisfying feeling of Beraht's nose crunching beneath him before going to hit him again, doing so again and again, even long after the man lost consciousness, and his face became covered in blood.

Served him right.

Served him _fucking right._

Served him-

His hand suddenly slammed into solid stone, sending a jarring force up his arm. Joachim's head snapped up, suddenly keenly aware that he wasn't in the Carta base anymore, and that Beraht and Leske were both missing. Instead of the warm yellow light he'd lived with his entire life, he sound himself surrounded by cold, inky darkness as something towered before him – something tall and smooth and cold and dark.

For a moment, he stared. It was all he could do.

He stood there and stared, frozen in place, unable to move, unable to do _anything,_ not even when something reached out for him, as it dark claws sank into his chest and suddenly a white hot pain exploded from everywhere and he was burning – screaming in pain as it took hold of him, screaming in a language he didn't understand, falling back onto the cold floor clutching his head and screaming because it was too much, the pain was too much, it was unbearable and it seeped deep into his soul and all he could do was scream until the darkness finally took him.


	7. The Tower, Part II

**Note:** So, good news, I am alive! Apologies for the unexplained extended hiatus, things have been complicated. If this chapter isn't up to par, I'm sorry, but it's the best I could manage for now.

* * *

Ellis staggered, jerking his head almost violently to one side as his fingers pressed against his temples and began rubbing them furiously, trying his best to throw off the pounding headache that had taken root in his brain. The icy cold air of the repository hit him without warning, welcoming him back into his own reality with a shock. Even the heat from the small blast they'd created in order to blow through a nearby wall wasn't nearly enough to warm him.

A few feet away, Jowan stepped back from the wall, coughing violently and frantically waving away smoke as he gasped frantically for air. "Ah…hah… see? I… I told you it'd work!"

Ellis blinked and whirled around, squinting through the harsh light, his mind desperately trying to catch up with reality. Just a second ago, he'd been somewhere else entirely.

He should be used to this by now. The fact that he wasn't, frustrated him to no end.

"Come on!" Lily urged quietly, picking up the skirt of her robes and rushing through the newly made hole in the wall without so much as a casual glance back either Ellis or Jowan. Ellis couldn't say he blamed her; she'd been keen to get the entire exercise over with almost since the instant they'd initially hatched this plan.

This poorly conceived, utterly _insane_ plan that he should not be part of in any way, and certainly not so soon after just barely passing his Harrowing.

And there Joachim had been, angrily making demands as if his own life was somehow the only one that _mattered-_

"Hey," Jowan's voice called, clicking several times in front of Ellis' face, in some vague attempt to draw him back to the situation at hand, "are you still with us? Ellis?"

Ellis blinked several times and shook his head, reaching out and grasping blindly at the wall as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him once again.

"Yeah!" he gasped out, just a little too quickly and a little too loudly to seem entirely natural. "Yeah, I- I'm fine. Just… headache, I guess."

His friend's expression softened a little – Jowan knew that Ellis had a long and celebrated history with headaches; or least had a habit of blaming every strange tick he'd ever had on a headache – and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks for doing this for me, Ellis," he murmured. "I mean it. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Ellis smiled weakly back at him. "Same here."

"Are you two coming?" Lily's voice called anxiously, causing both boys to immediately whirl around and rush into the repository themselves to catch up with her.

Ellis swallowed anxiously as he ran, unable to stop thinking about the pure anxiety the welled up within him. This was the dumbest thing he'd ever done – even with his long and glorious history of doing utterly moronic things. Pulling pranks on templars as a bored thirteen-year-old had been fun, despite the danger; now all he felt was his insides twisting up in knots as dread gnawed at him and his brain very unhelpfully kept relentlessly combing over all of the possible punishments he'd receive when they were caught.

_If_ they were caught, he automatically corrected himself. No one knew what they were up to. They'd been far too careful for that.

And yet.

Imprisonment was his first thought. If he was lucky. If he wasn't, Tranquility, or perhaps execution. And if he was being honest with himself, there was a part of him he couldn't deny that preferred execution. He'd seen too many Tranquil, seen the empty husks they had been turned into, seen how everyone in the tower either ignored them or abused them, knowing they would never resist, never fight back. He couldn't stand the thought of being the victim of it himself. Couldn't bear the idea of suffering as he'd seen the Tranquil suffer and not being able to do anything about it. Not caring about it. Not even reacting to it. That wasn't a life. It was barely an _existence._ Anything, death included, was preferable to that.

A cold shiver travelled up his spine the instant that thought passed through his mind. If it was just him; if all he had to worry about was his own life, that would've been where it ended. Instead…

He shook his head, desperate not to think about it.

Instead nothing. They weren't going to get caught.

The anxiety was clearly getting to him. Everything had gone so well up to this point, there was no reason to think the rest of it wouldn't go smoothly, too. And yet, he still couldn't rid himself of the gnawing feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach, part of him utterly convinced something was about to go terribly wrong, and there was nothing he could do about it. All he could really do was simply stand there and wait for it.

Maybe it was simply the air of foreboding that seemed to dominate the repository - the eerie magical mist that covered the floor, the unmistakable charge of magic in the air, radiating off the various magical artifacts scattered about the place. Maybe it was the silence, cold and uncomfortable and sending shivers up his spine as it reminded him with every passing second that he was not supposed to be here. He'd been just about everywhere in the tower, regardless of whether he was allowed. And yet, nowhere had made him feel so much like a trespasser than this place.

Maybe it was simply all the effort they'd gone to just to get here in the first place.

"Now we just have to find where they keep the phylacteries," Jowan said with a nervous laugh from beside him. "Too bad yours was sent to Denerim already, huh?"

It was said like a joke, but Ellis could easily make out the undertone of regret in Jowan's voice. Almost immediately, the corners of his lips quirked with the beginnings of a small, crooked smile, before placing a reassuring hand on Jowan's shoulder.

"I'll be okay, _mother,__"_ he replied, the lilting humour in his tone clear. "Honestly. I'm a big boy. Passed my Harrowing and everything."

Jowan smiled crookedly at that and playfully shoved him. "You're _such_ an ass sometimes."

Ellis didn't reply, simply shook his head with a small smile as the two of them went to catch up with Lily, was standing at the foot of the stairs, shifting her weight constantly from one foot to the other, desperately trying to hide just how anxious she was and utterly failing. In that moment, Ellis couldn't blame her. The reality of what they were doing, of what they'd already _done_ was finally beginning to settle in, and all three of them were suddenly forced to come to terms that they would never be able to lead normal lives after this.

But what _was_ normal for them? Living here, confined in Kinloch Hold, for the rest of their lives? Who could really call _that_ a life?

"Over there!" Jowan shouted suddenly, rushing ahead, past Lily, charging up the stairs as both Ellis and Lily simply watched on.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, watching each other warily while the faint clinking of glass sounded out as Jowan rummaged through the phylacteries he'd managed to find. Ellis watched Lily carefully, still not entirely sure what to make of her. Nothing about her or what she did made sense to him.

"Be good to him, alright?" he found himself saying, almost in spite of himself.

Lily jumped slightly in surprise at the sudden sound of his voice. "W-what?" she squeaked.

Ellis' eyes narrowed, and he nodded in Jowan's direction, not bothering to say anything more. She'd know what he meant. And after a couple of thoroughly awkward seconds, she did seem to understand, and nodded at him, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a small, shaky smile before she ultimately turned away, running up the stairs herself to meet up with Jowan.

"You found it yet?" he heard her ask as she reached the top of the stairs.

"I'm looking," Jowan grunted in response. "Give me a minute."

Ellis glanced uneasily back at the hole they'd made in the wall. "I'm not sure we've _got_ a minute," he called out.

"Just hold on! Damn it, aren't these things supposed to glow the closer they get to you?"

They continued to talk, something about the phylacteries Ellis assumed, though he very quickly stopped listening. He didn't have any real interest in hearing their clumsy attempts at affection and flirting. The two of them were painful enough already.

Instead, he glanced back at the shattered stone, out into the main storage room of the repository. Hopefully, with any luck, the way back wouldn't be nearly as complicated, and they'd be able to sneak out without anyone realising what was going on or trying to stop them. With any luck, by the time anyone noticed, the three of them would be long gone. Of course, after the racket they'd made, he wasn't hopeful, but it was still a nice thing to consider. Maybe it would all be fine and they'd get away clean, despite everything.

One could only hope.

"Ellis," a horribly familiar voice suddenly called out, without any warning. "Ellis, _stop!__"_

At the sound of Eisa frantically calling his name, he whirled around, quickly searching his surroundings despite knowing that she was never really there. And still, he saw her, standing before him, eyes wide and pleading as she reached out to him.

"You don't have to do this," she insisted, stepping towards him until she was right in his face, her emotions filling up his mind until he couldn't think of anything else, leaving him paralysed. "You don't have to be part of this. It isn't too late. You can go back, turn around and go back to the dorms. Irving will be lenient. Just _don__'t_ do this."

He blinked several times, shaking his head violently in an attempt to rid himself of her, of the weight of her in his mind. "What… what are you _talking_ about?"

She reached up, gripping his shoulders and all but forcing him to look her directly in the eye. Ellis winced the second their gazes met, already feeling his resolve crumble even as he fought against her influence, pushing back against the crushing weight of her presence. His breathing was shallow and nearly silent, but suddenly Ellis felt like he was gasping desperately for air, chest heaving as his lungs laboured. Everything was aching terribly, like it was all twisting up and folding out as he tried to fight, tried to kick her out, to no avail.

He staggered from the sheer force of her, collapsing against the wall before launching into a fit of violent coughing.

_"Listen to me,"_ Eisa urged, her voice harsh and quiet, though in that moment it was the only thing he could hear. "Irving and Greagoir know. They know_ everything._ There will be a contingent of templars waiting for you the moment you exit the basement. You _have_ to leave. You have to leave _now,_ and throw yourself on their mercy."

Pressure built up in his head as he continued to fight her, fight the part of him that was suddenly overwhelmed with a desperate need to flee. He knew it wasn't really him. Years of learning how to recognise demonic influence in his mind had given him that, at least.

He'd forgotten she could this – make herself such a powerful force in someone's mind, to the point of incapacitating them. None of the rest of them had that power, and it had been so long since she'd done it, to _any_ of them. And even when she did, it was always in an emergency and to the more impulsive of them; Joachim and Rhian, mostly. Sometimes Eugene. But the two of them were close, closer than the others. He'd never thought she'd do it to _him._

"How?" he asked weakly.

Eisa's expression suddenly went completely impassive. "How do you _think?__"_

_"You-?"_

She nodded, a grim smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Me."

He tried to pull back then, tried to lash out, tried to get angry. Instead, he sagged against the wall, still struggling to free himself from her as his mind reeled from the betrayal. At least he registered that. All he could do was hope she felt it.

He should've known she'd intervene, because of _course_ she would. Jowan never should've told him what he and Lily were up to. Once he knew, Eisa knew as well. He should've seen that. He should've _realised_ that. It wasn't safe for him to know anything.

_Idiot,_ he cursed himself. _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_

_Why_ hadn't that _occurred_ to him?

"How could you _do_ that?" he demanded, his voice still low and hoarse from the effort he'd had to expend to keep her from forcing him to leave.

"Don't you _understand?!__"_ Eisa had to stop herself from outright screaming at him. "Ellis, he's a _maleficar!_ Why _else_ would Irving approve sentencing an apprentice to Tranquility?"

"You don't _know_ that," he hissed.

_"Yes,_ I _do,__"_ she snarled back at him.

"You're getting him made _Tranquil_ over some _fucking rumours-__"_

"I _know_ a blood mage when I see one," she shot back icily. "I know you do, too."

"He's my _best friend!__"_

"And he's _using_ you," Eisa replied softly. "Don't destroy yourself for his sake, Ellis. You deserve better than that."

"Ellis?"

Jowan's voice was surprisingly loud, slicing mercilessly through the mental fog Eisa had created. Ellis felt himself shudder, part of him still desperately fighting against her oppressive weight. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder – something real, something tangible, something he could focus on that wasn't some part of him, or _her._ He wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.

But Jowan? Jowan was real.

"Hey," he called. "We're ready to go. You okay?"

Ellis blinked, but already felt Eisa weakening, allowing him to straighten back up and finally pull away from the wall. "I- …yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just- uh, headache."

He winced as the word left him, his go-to excuse for everything. In the back of his mind, he could still feel Eisa, still feel her clawing at his soul.

"I'm trying to _save_ you," she whispered.

He shoved her aside, as best as he was able. Instead, he glanced up at Jowan, not quite sure what to say in that moment. He desperately needed to say _something,_ warn them, tell them what Eisa had told him about the trap that was waiting. He knew that, knew he should, and yet, something held him back.

Fear over inevitably having to explain himself? Or Eisa's lingering influence? Ellis couldn't possibly begin to tell.

Instead, he managed a weak smile.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured, gesturing at the hole in the wall. "I've had enough of this place."

"We can use the door now, I think," Lily piped up from a few paces away. "It isn't locked from this side."

Jowan nodded, smiling warmly at her. "Come on."

Ellis staggered, stumbling blindly through the door a little ways behind Jowan and Lily, still fighting to kick the last remnants of Eisa out of his head. He focused entirely on where he was, and where he was planning to go, silently steeling himself against another of her attacks. He didn't know if it would work – he could hardly be sure of anything when it came to Eisa – but he did it all the same. At least that way, he felt even a little prepared for the mental onslaught he felt sure was coming.

_"Please,_ Ellis," Eisa's quiet, disembodied voice echoed around his brain as he stumbled through the hallway as quickly as he could manage. "Do the right thing."

His lip curled at that. He _was_ doing the right thing.

"Get _out_ of my fucking _head,__"_ he growled back at her, not sure if she could hear him but beyond the point of caring.

He couldn't feel her presence in his mind anymore, couldn't feel the weight of her pressing down on his soul. She had completely vanished, and yet, Ellis still struggled to move, or really _do_ anything. The world around him blurred and suddenly he found himself doubting that what was happening to him had really been Eisa at all.

But what _else_ could it be, if not her? Nothing else made sense.

He clenched his teeth. Something was wrong.

"Jowan…" he rasped as he sagged against the wall, unable to go on. "Jo…"

His voice died in his throat as stone changed to smooth glass beneath his fingertips. Ellis blinked several times, glancing up only to be greeted with a dark room, his hand pressed against cold glass and refusing to move, no matter how hard he tried to pull away. His gaze travelled up, his eyes growing wide as he recognised just _what_ exactly was towering ominously over him.

_Impossible._

He threw himself back with all the force he was capable of, his hand finally coming loose from the mirror's surface, falling back on the hard stone floor with a grunt. For a moment, he lay there, in the middle of a dark and unfamiliar room, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, frantically trying to pull at magic that suddenly didn't seem to be there anymore. Around him, wind seemed to swell, and he could feel something reaching out to him, crawling along with the wind until it had him in its grip, the blackest corruption sinking into what felt like his very soul.

Without thinking, he lashed out, kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs in a language some part of him recognised without really knowing, frantically begging all the gods he knew of – the Creators, the Stone, the ancestors, the Maker, the Old Gods, he didn't care – for help, for salvation he wasn't sure would ever come.

_Not here,_ he found himself begging. _Not like this._

He cried, and fought, and screamed, and begged, lashing out with everything he had even as his movements slowed, as his limbs became too heavy to lift, as his magic failed him, as the darkness pulled at his mind, and someone very far away quietly apologised. And then, as the darkness closed in, Ellis knew nothing more.


End file.
